Anbar
by Sherbert20111
Summary: There are problems being a vine wand wielder. Some answers are not written for good reason. Humour is subjective. Not the teaching staff you are used to. M for a reason and from the beginning.
1. Chapter 1

A/N JK Rowling created Harry Potter and the characters therein, obs.

The young man lay back on his pristinely made bed, one forearm behind his head, the other balanced on a raised knee, twitching his wand with a practised swish and flick that turned a bodkin, rocking on a chest of drawers at the end of the bed, into a bumblebee and back again. Every now and again, he tried to step into the little beasts mind, trying to capture the feeling of that moment when it became sentient and more morbidly, that moment when it became...not. For curiosities sake he attempted to use its multifaceted eyes, but it made him feel disorientated and slightly nauseous, so he stopped; but logged mentally to try again until he could master it.

"_Apifors_," he muttered and committed it to his prodigious memory

A few more days of freedom and then back to school, he thought. Two more years to plumb the depths of his potential across a broad range of subjects before perhaps, picking a specialty and pursuing it in the world at large. He glanced briefly at the bookcase, lively with reference books, sports annuals and keepsakes when his gaze fell upon last years Yearbook, stuffed to bursting with clippings, scribblings and the mandatory parade of his partners in crime. The end of Year 5, roll on Year 6.

He considered each of his classmates in turn, starting with his male colleagues, their strengths and weaknesses, how he might best them in a duel or a dark alley or a game of Poker. He considered without excessive aggrandisement that he was rarely well matched, finding himself better placed in such things against the year above him or indeed the scholars passed out last term. The unofficial duelling organised by the Centaurs in the Forbidden Forest had been exceptionally instructive. For a small fee and the right contacts, one could observe or participate. Cedric had done both and his cumulative Winners Purse, at the tail end of last year, had more than made back his original down-payment.

He scratched the corner of his jaw idly, the scruffy hair coming through slipped pleasantly against the pad of his fingers and the inside of his square cut nails. Tomorrow he would have to shave again, it was becoming an almost daily requirement.

He turned his mind to the fairer sex, shoving his wand under his pillow and reaching for the Yearbook. A self satisfied smirk graced his face, how he loved to relive _these_ moments. Swiftly he flipped to the pages of moving pictures, beneath the name and 'most likely to' epitaph was something special that he had added himself. It looked nothing more than a tick box and he knew that if he ran a finger over it, it would feel slightly raised, like a welt caused by excessive ink.

In a way that's exactly what it was, except instead of ink molecules stacked upon ink, they were memories stacked upon memories, his very own version of individual pensieves. He tapped an elegant finger against pouting lips, considering his options. Every last box was grayed out, indicating that the tiny well of souls was full. His gaze lingered on the last to complete the set, the Keeper in his own Quidditch team Maxine O'Flaherty and the unashamed owner of what would euphemistically be referred to as a 'fuller' figure.

Pausing to ascertain the time, he cast a ward on the door and adjusted himself before dipping a cautious fingertip to the page. Almost immediately he was sucked into the kaleidoscope memory of the last match of the season, the raucous celebrations in the locker room afterwards and Maxine eyeing him speculatively as she made for the ladies showers. When he found himself the last to leave and she had not emerged, he sought her out and considered himself suitably rewarded for his time.

He relived again the pivotal moments in spectacular technicolour. The slick white of the tiles, the acres of creamy, freckled skin punctuated by rosy tints above and ruddy tones below. Glass green eyes so dark they reflected his awed face almost perfectly and lips as ardent as his own, ardent in pursuit of the known made new again by a different partner. When he had taken her to the wall, she had dragged him to the floor, all the while the showers pelting scalding rain. Mindful always of the need to make ready, he had lost first one and then two fingers to her body, only to find them rudely discarded as she helped herself to the protection he brought with him on the off-chance, his length and finally his considerable stamina. Bracing herself above him, she rode him frantically, his face was repeatedly pummelled by heavy breasts that he laved with his tongue when in reach and snapped at with covered teeth when they veered away.

He gripped her thighs as her breathing became harsh rasps and she leaned back instead of forwards, to force his way upwards and in, in, in, in time with her erratic movements.

The urgency in his body brought him back to his bedroom and he stumbled swiftly to the en-suite shower, shucking T-shirt and jeans in his haste to relieve the gargantuan ache in his pelvis. The shower spat weakly but soon strengthened to full on downpour as he leaned back against the tiles and finished himself off, chest heaving, with a few strokes and a lingering twist.

He dowsed his head and allowed himself a Cheshire grin, thinking about the yearbook again. Full house. Ever the completer-finisher, he gave himself a mental high five. Time to move on to newer pastures. Something a little less knowing perhaps? Certainly less rushed. Back to when sex was to savour and explore rather than for sport and one-upmanship. Was it not a duty, to give back something to the students coming behind him? Some research was definitely in order, there had to be something worth pursuing in the year below, he mused. He stepped out of the shower and towelled himself vigorously before retrieving his jeans, opting for a crisp shirt and sweater vest before drawing on socks and shoes.

His Fathers voice rang again in his ears. "Cedric dear boy, I have an errand for you," and with it the option that his father would prefer him to take in respect of his further education – starting in the Ministry as a gopher and working his way up through the ranks of the priggish and policied. His face soured and he blew his cheeks out in distaste.

There were mutterings at the dinner table just last night, his father mentioning in passing that he would soon enough introduce young Cedric to a few of the rich and fatuous, who would be only too pleased to spend a few years lording it over the son of the esteemed Amos Diggory. Thoughts of the Quidditch World Cup brought the ghost of a smile back into play. It seemed he would be required to pay a house call to the Weasleys in the Valley, they were to share a Portkey to the games and wasn't there a younger _female_ Weasley...he couldn't for the life of him remember either name or year, but it was...something to look forward to...

In the Yearbook he left behind, the pages of preening ladies in ornate picture frames shuffled closer together, making space for a frame starkly plain in comparison that flickered in and out of being. The epitaph wrote itself in looping calligraphy underneath, 'most likely to be the brightest….'

0.0

Cedric stepped out of the house, holding his coat by the collar in one hand and was almost run down by his Mother.

"See you after the Match dear, Lambrini and I are playing Bridge with her young man and Dr Proudfoot to make up the foursome." She paused mid flow to air kiss him on both cheeks and he noted with some perturbation that her eyes were unnaturally bright. The fox around her neck must have died a ghastly death, whilst drowning in Chanel #5. "Give my best to Molly won't you, dear?"

"Of course," he agreed readily.

"Ta-ta, darling," she waved a gloved hand in his direction, before disapparating, mid stride.

"Bridge, my arse," he muttered. There were posters up all over the small village of Ottery St Catchpole exhibiting a half dozen muscled meatheads dressed in bow ties and slyly cut wizarding robes. If there was a magical bone in the observers body, the pictures were anything but still - there was great deal of flexing, resulting in a complete lack of imagination required, as to the nature of the spectacle the posters advertised.

He considered disapparating despite the fact that he did not yet have his certificate, but thought better of it since the day was pleasant and the Weasleys were less than an hour away if he didn't dawdle. He swung his coat over one shoulder and strode off down the hill, whistling a jaunty tune and quite looking forward to seeing both Molly and her progeny. Perhaps there would be time for a hand of Poker if the Twins were about, he thought. They presented an intriguing challenge as an opponent for card sharping, since they appeared to share some sort of Hive mind, working together to evict other players in a game, before turning on each other.

The ground levelled off beneath his feet and he settled into an easy stride, enjoying the breeze funnelling up the Valley from the tributary that gave the local icon its home. Otters were common here and the residents had found out the hard way that a well kept Koi pond was, to an otter, like Muggle pick n' mix, only presumably better for ones teeth.

The Valleys scrubby grassland gave way to stockier growth and eventually reeds. Cedric slipped his coat on in a smooth motion against the stiff breeze coming off the estuary and pulled out his wand. Practice, practice, practice, he chided himself, smiling, giving the rod an elegant wave. A teasel to a tit-marsh, the little bird launched itself into the air and whistled back the very tune he himself was humming.

He tucked his free hand into his pocket and bringing out the bodkin, he threw it high into the suns stare and tried to turn it, blinded as he was, back into a bumblebee. A drowsy buzzing drew a chuckle from his satisfied smirk and he clicked his fingers and dived forwards to catch the carved piece in the palm of his hand. He tossed it a second time and caught it, half behind his back for sport.

The Burrows roof came into view, crooked as a nags back and shrouded in mist or smoke, just as his footfalls startled a hare from its form. Cedric drew up short, eyeing the creature warily. It bounded a short distance before halting and rising a little on its back legs, looking back at him over its shoulder. It would not look the least out of place, given the surroundings, were its coat not brilliant white and its eyes blood red. Never taking his eyes off it, Cedric offered a deep and formal bow, being careful to keep the tip of his wand pointed away from the creature.

Fairytales his Mother had read him at bedtime as a small boy rose unbidden to the forefront of his mind and a prickle of unease raised the short hairs on the back of his neck. The hare was forever immortalised in '_The Lepus _Legend' a salutary story warning the male sex about the consequences of infidelity. The woman scorned, dying of heartbreak returns to haunt her former cheating lover, taking the guise of a white hare. Whilst she chooses to save him from fates hand as many as three times, she ultimately stands as the cause of his demise and is never seen again, presumably following her deceased former partner into the ether.

Whiskers quivered as the hare caught his scent, then with a twitch of its long ears, it ducked a little in his direction and leapt again into the undergrowth. Cedric straightened and let out a breath, he ran a nervous hand through his hair once to calm himself and a second time to resettle the disarray before continuing on, strangely silent.

He stopped at the edge of the Burrows back lawn for a moment to admire the view, his good mood resurrecting itself like a jack in the box at the sight before him…and he congratulated himself as he remembered the name that had previously escaped him.

A/N A form is the name given to a hares nest. A bodkin is variously a small dagger or a wooden handled pointed device used for making holes in leather. The Lepus legend is not so named, but does exist. Thank you for reading.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: JK Rowling invented the Potterverse, the name always makes me think of a spinning potters wheel with a little globe on top. It's Wednesday where you are already, right? Close enough...

Thwack! The noise made Hermione and Ginny jump in their seats at the kitchen table. "Broom falls," shouted Molly Weasley breezily. "Set another place girls, if you will?"

Hermione looked curiously at Ginny, who shrugged and pulled a face. She was winning at Gin against the older girl for a change and didn't want to get distracted. The Knave in her hand winked at her and shaped the underside of his moustache with one finger.

"Now!" Molly called sharply, making them both jump again.

Ginny moaned and folded her cards. "Plenty of time for that after dinner, you know the boys will always settle for a hand or two, in between coming up with more money making schemes." Molly laughed as she bustled about and like a cloud of starlings disturbed by her movements, pots and pans took to the air. Hermione ducked, narrowly missing being skewered by a wooden spoon that turned sideways and zoomed around her. She pulled a placemat from the table drawer and set it down, the other mats already on the table rearranged themselves a little sideways to make more space for the extra seating. Ginnys bobbing wand marched cutlery into position and they dropped with a clatter. Hermione set them straight as Ginny returned with a highball glass.

"Wine glass if you please?" called Molly crisply. Hermione raised her eyebrows as Ginny rolled her eyes towards the clock that showed all the Burrows inhabitants. Hermione and Harry were such frequent visitors here that they too had been added and displayed 'Home' and 'Starvacious' respectively. Mollys arm on the clock was wavering towards the large 'WTF' bottom right.

"Really Mother?" said Ginny with a disbelieving sigh.

"Yes dear, I think so," she said, squinting into the steam rising from the washing up soaking in the sink. "Such a nice boy." Molly patted at her hair and dinner whipped itself together in a frenzy.

Ginny snorted, "not," under her breath and turned away. Hermione put her hands on her hips. "Who?" she hissed. "Sir Dick," replied Ginny under her breath and turning back, as if that explained everything. Hermione barely recognised her, her hair was different, the puppy fat on her face had melted away and she could pass for 20.

"What did you do?" Hermione asked incredulously. Pans fell in a cacophony behind them.

"Ginny Weasley!" Mollys voice rang out in a no nonsense tone. "You get yourself upstairs my girl and don't come back down until you have your own face on."

"Shoo!" Molly persisted over Ginnys half-hearted protestations. "Scat!" Ginny scrambled upstairs and out of sight. "Sometimes I swear she's adopted," said Molly holding still so lipstick could apply itself to her face. Hermione stared over nonplussed. "I'll explain later dear," said Molly kindly. "It's a Witch thing." Hermione nodded firmly, compressing her lips. They had had many of these conversations over the years and had been invaluable in the light of Hermiones Muggle parentage.

"Is there anything else I can do?" asked Hermione, scooping up the deck of cards. The Knave card was sticking to the back of the Queen of Hearts card at an awkward angle and Hermione banged the long edge of the deck on the dresser top before squaring it off and shoving them in a drawer, along with the latest edition of Cosmo.

Molly leant over a Muggle golf bag slumped in an alcove and carefully selected a wood iron. "Tell the boys ten minutes and no more before coming in." She handed over the dark headed golf club, "and see if you can do anything about the gnomes on the lawn, we're infested." Sighing, she said, "Arthur barely has any time at all these days what with everything…"

Hermione ran her hands over the curved wooden head, another liberation associated with Mr Weasleys job no doubt. It must be quite old, she knew from her Dads clubs that Persimmon wood as a club head material had fallen out of favour in the face of more stable man-made composites. Hermione recognised the dark, tight grained wood from studying with Olivander over the Summer. He had a veritable forest of native and exotic woods stacked around the place and she had spent an enjoyable week buried up to her nose in reference books and cataloguing paraphernalia, doing his semi-annual stock take for him.

Her favourite moment was on her last day, when he had pulled out a wide, slim drawer filled with carved wooden eggs laid out in a grid of satin nests. Olivander had explained that the miniatures were a precursor to the first step in a wand makers apprenticeship, should she be so enticed. The eggs were all so different, plain, banded, textured or smooth and so many hues. Not one was larger than a blue tits egg and he had asked her to name the timber, origin and maturity. She had of course, done exceptionally well. She had left with a block of immature ironwood no larger than her thumb and the understanding that she would, perhaps, return next Summer with something to show for the intervening time.

Hermione switched the club from hand to hand as she ambled her way outside, testing the weight and balance with small swings, being careful not to knock it into the walls or door. It made a pleasing swooshing noise and returned equidistant to the mid-point each side like a well-mannered metronome. She made her way to a red and white striped tent that would not have looked out of place on the side of a road under maintenance in the Muggle world. Another spoil collected from the Ministry, courtesy of a possessed manhole cover on the A46 as she recalled. Muffled conversation told her that Harry and Ron were inside.

She twacked at the unsecured door flap with the club and was rewarded with Rons yelp of surprise.

"Don't come in," ordered Harrys voice strongly. It was at least two octaves lower than last Summer she mused and quite musical; her ruminating was cut short by the other occupant.

"Shit," whined Ron, "shiiiit"

"Whats the matter?" asked Hermione, pausing and scrunching up her nose. From the scuffling going on, dressing or something like it was happening. This was not normally a cause for expletives.

"Ron caught a fish," said Harry and dissolved into guffaws.

Hermione stared up at the clouds and decided that the topic was probably going to be unbecoming. They had all been swimming in the man-made pool conjured in the salt marsh and the girls has retreated when the boys had become splashy and, well, boyish. "Your Mum says ten minutes," said Hermione firmly.

"Mum," wailed Ron. "ten minutes," his voice broke.

Hermione sighed and unfurled a poster of local flora, fauna, fish and fowl in her mind. She browsed the columns of titles, pictures and subscripts, looking for anything that referred to salt marshes. "If it's got a red chin, it's a Minnowtaur and doesn't have any teeth, just pull it off and don't touch the top fin because it has barbs on it."

There was an expectant silence, then an unpleasant squishing noise, followed by a damp splat – the sort of sound that wringing wet swimming trunks might make, or a misguided piscine hitting the floor.

Ron made a contented warbling noise

"Ten minutes and company is coming," Hermione finished. She wandered off towards the back lawn, swishing the club ahead of her. Rounding the house, she stopped at the edge of the path; two gnomes were digging molehills, another was carving its initials in the turf, peeling back the top layer of grass and flinging it over his shoulder. Hermione stepped silently across the lawn, widened her stance and raised the club to her shoulder. She bought the club down in a smooth arc that took the head of the turf vandal off at the neck and shot it cleanly into the reeds at the bottom of the garden.

The dumpy body of her victim ran in ever decreasing circles, pawing at its empty neck and causing a shower of greenish brown droplets to splatter unpleasantly on the grass. Toadstools poked up in a circle, brown with green gills and mycelium, pale and grey, shot out to feed off the still warm body that had fallen on its back, drumming it heels feebly in the short grass. Provided one didn't look too closely at the aftermath, the whole thing was quite cathartic, she thought. She shook off the feeling that she was being watched, it was probably just Molly from the kitchen window.

She lined herself up for the next one and waggled her arse for full effect, swung back and hit something bone crunchingly solid on the backswing that grunted. The golf club vibrated unpleasantly in her hands, transferring heavy shudders up her arms.

"Ron!" she yelled, then frowned when she spotted Harry and Ron mooching towards the house, damp towels and swimming shorts loosely wadded in their hands. Ron was mincing a bit, not that that was particularly unusual.

"Bloody Hell!" shouted Ron running over. "You're flippin' dangerous." She turned about, taking in the groaning form laying on its side behind her and holding its ribs.

"Ced?" said Harry.

"Ugh" replied the form. "A little help?" it said lowly. Hermione raised the club behind her neck and held on to both ends, frowning. He had to be a wizard, no-one in the Muggle world wore brown leather flying jackets with a fleece collar anymore, they were so '80's. The boy on the ground looked familiar, but the clothes didn't mesh at all with the memories that she had of his face. It was only when he pulled a hand away from his ribs, raising it for a handshake and groaning, "Cedric Diggory, pleased to make your acquaintance," that she realised who he was from his voice.

Cho Chang had a recording of his voice trapped somehow in a small velvet purse. Depending on how fast or slow one pulled open the neck of the little bag determined the speed at which _that_ voice said 'fuuuck meee.' Captain of the Hufflepuff Quidditch team, head of House for his year, Prefect, Teachers pet, the subject of scandalous but admiring gossip and a Sixth former this year, Cedric 'Sir Dick' Diggory, capitals intended.

Harry reached for the outstretched hand and Cedrics face showed for barely an instant that he was not the desired recipient. He took it nonetheless and heaved himself up, doubled over and still holding his ribs, looped his arm over Harrys shoulders and leaned heavily on him.

"Tell Molly, Company has arrived," Hermione instructed Ron, "and while you're at it, ask her to pull out the Skelefix and Arnica." She eyed Cedric in a business-like manner, "what exactly _were_ you doing behind me?"

He smiled sheepishly at the ground, "admiring your stroke?" Hermione snorted in a very unladylike manner and then went bright red. This was not Ron and she was highly embarrassed at damaging what appeared to be the Weasleys houseguest.

He squinted up at her through his lashes and chuckled uncomfortably at her unimpressed countenance. "You'd get more distance if you rotate your hips properly though and your follow through is short because your shoulders are too tight." He grinned, but his eyes were tight with pain. "I'd show you, but I'm a little incapacitated…"

Sorry seemed to be such an inappropriate thing to say, thought Hermione, so she didn't - he shouldn't have been there and his explanation, plausible as it was, seemed unlikely in the light of Ginnys naming convention. She peeled his arm away from his injured side, ignoring the muffled groan and steered him towards the kitchen, uncomfortably aware of how much larger he was up close.

"Come on," she sighed and used resignation to mask the fact that the arm newly resting over her shoulder was pressing no weight on her at all and the tips of his curled fingers were drifting embarrassingly close to her chest that had appeared over the summer. Ron trotted on ahead with an uneven gait.

A chair had been pulled out from the kitchen table and a white bottle with a flip top lid in the macabre shape of a grinning skull had been left off centre, along with a tube bearing an impression of something herby. Noises off indicated that Molly and Ron had reached the top of the stairs, Mollys sharp voice saying, "stupid boy," rang out before a door slammed, cutting off Rons whimper .

Harry and Hermione eased Cedric into the seat, he was hissing under his breath. Hermione picked up a shot glass and poured out a generous measure of the gloopy mixture and handed it to him. It was familiar territory to her, given how accident prone Ron seemed to be around her.

Cedric mock saluted Harry and lifted it to drink, twisting his face into a grimace at the chalky taste. Hermione did what she would normally do with her usual patient and hitched up his shirt to check out the afflicted area. Cedric hiccoughed in surprise, raising his elbow out the way and lifting his eyebrows in surprise at Harry, while Hermione inspected his ribs. The skin wasn't broken, but was shaping up to be the most glorious shade of purple.

Harry shrugged and pulled the tab on a can of cola, taking a long pull before wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. Hermione took up the tube of ointment and carefully rolled the crimped end up to dispel the irritating waist that had been squeezed into the middle. Cedric opened his mouth to comment, but thought better of it when she squirted a dollop of Arnica cream out of the tube into her hand and rubbed it briskly into his side.

"Haaahh…" he started.

"Don't be such a baby," scolded Hermione. "It will make the bruising go down." He was warm under her touch, very warm and very still, unlike Rons normally squirming response. Hermiones hand slowed as the topography of her patient assimilated itself into parts of her brain normally safely dormant. Ron didn't have an 'innie', or any hair in a narrow trail down his stomach either, or if he did it was too pale to see. Cedrics stomach was sucked in and to look at his chest, he wasn't breathing, which was…odd. She was close enough to read clearly part of the name printed on the waistband of his underwear rising jauntily above the belt line of his trousers and the second word not visible was probably not going to be Hobbes.

A buzzer went off on the cooker. Hermione jerked away, face on fire, dropping Cedrics shirt-tail and screwing the top on the Arnica tube so tight that it cracked.

Cedric caught at her wrist and said earnestly, "thanks, I really appreciate it." Hermione told herself that it was fine, sort of, except for the way that his voice reminded her of cookies. Dark, naughty delights you hid from your friends because they were too good to share, double choc chip death by chocolate cookies. And until he finished the sentence with "Ginny."

A/N: The thing about Persimmon is true. The same species has the tree that produces Sharon Fruit. Alledgedly you can also tell what next Winter will be like if you cut a fuit open and it has something that looks like a knife or a fork in it. I am sure that the expression WTF is universal and requires no explanation.

This story will update every 7-10 days. It is written, but I find to my dismay that I am a freaking tweakaholic.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N JK Rowling made Cedric a snappy dresser. I thought he might like a break over the holidays

Harry slapped a hand over his mouth and choked cola all over it. He buried his face in the crook of his elbow and coughed, wheezing to catch his breath. Cola droplets splattered the floor like something with fizzy brown blood was being murdered messily above. Cedric looked askance at him, then his eyes narrowed in understanding.

"Ginny," said Hermione, nodding thoughtfully.

Cedric beamed at her charmingly.

"Oh you're good," Hermione continued, adding her best simper. "You know my _name_," she said with mock wonderment. Hermione didn't see Cedrics smile falter, then quirk back, because she looked down, away from the sight that was starting to torment her just a little bit.

Maybe it was the way that just about everything about him needed to be touched up the teensiest bit to make it neat. From the hair that curled behind one ear, but over the other, the collar that was ironed flat on one side and stuck out over the sweater vest compared to the other that was slightly curled under and in, not to mention the shirttail that was sticking out like an invitation.

Wait, she berated herself, you did that. She took a deep breath and stopped cataloguing the irritations and fixed the little ones. Brushing deft fingers behind his ear and straightening the material either side of his neck, she looked him dead in the eye and smiled serenely.

"Maybe next time," she purred, dragging his collar methodically tighter around his neck. His adams apple bobbed against her fingers.

"Next time…?" His day old scruff grazed the flesh under her thumb and her reply came out more vehement that she'd intended.

"You could get it _right._" She stepped away and snatched up the Skelefix and retrieved the club, turning her back to hide her annoyance. "That's just rude," she muttered under her breath, slamming the club back into the golf bag and covering the sound of Cedric rising from his seat. He paused to tuck himself in and free his neck a little. Harry retreated, still hacking into his hand and quite unable to save his peer, even if he deserved it.

Hermione opened the medicine cabinet and stretched up to tuck the Skelefix and Arnica back on to the top shelf. She had to hang on to the kitchen counter with the other hand and teeter on the toes of one foot to manage the feat. Sure hands caught her above the waist as she almost overbalanced and she slammed the cabinet door accidentally hard. She cringed against the sound echoing around the room.

"I could have done that," Cedric chided smoothly, "you only had to ask…" he captured his tongue between his teeth to stop the rest of the sentence '_short stuff'_ from escaping.

Hermione spluttered with laughter, "I can't imagine that I would ask you for anything." She turned to face him, his hands still cupped loosely about her, only to spot Harry beating a swift retreat. Now there was someone who deserved a thick ear, fancy leaving her with him. She growled at the perceived betrayal.

"I've been known to be extremely helpful," he said with a trace of hurt in his voice, he sighed, "and of course I owe you an apology. I know who you are, I mean," he shrugged, "who doesn't?"

She stared up at him, her hands finding a natural resting place against the diamonds and crosses on his sweater vest. It has started to pill from over laundering and her fingers twitched against it, a bobble found its way between the pads of her forefinger and thumb. He sounded so believable, but the twinkle in his eye was rankling her.

"Uh huh," she prompted, sceptically. "And my name is?"

"Your name is…" he drew out, infinitesimally closing the distance between them and dropping his chin. Hermione was mesmerised for a second by his lips parting directly above hers. The cutting edges of his teeth were shockingly white, or perhaps his lips were shockingly red. And thanks to her parents dental-centric occupation, maybe she had a thing for noticing teeth.

"…is…" he whispered. His lashes swept low over his cheekbones.

'_Mint,'_ whispered in Hermiones head and the enticing suggestion, '_taste me'_

"Hermione?" called Ginny from the stairs. Her voice was incredulous and perhaps a tad envious.

"Hermione," he confirmed with a nod and a laugh, ducking closer.

"A little space…" she demanded, shoving him away, more than aware that she had been played and now Ginny was going to think that she was playing right along _with_ him. He moved back a step reluctantly.

Molly appeared right behind Ginny and smiled widely. "Cedric," she crowed, bolting down the stairs and rushing towards him arms wide. "It's so lovely to see you," she fussed. "You look so thin, stay for dinner? Of course you will," she answered for him, hugging him to within an inch of his life. He held his arms wide of her, gritting his teeth against the ache in his ribs, before patting her comfortably on the shoulders. "The boys are all here," she carried on, releasing him and taking up residence in front of the cooker, "somewhere," she muttered distracted. She whipped an enormous casserole out from the oven which strangely coincided with the Twins appearance as well as a red-faced Ron and Harry herding him towards the table.

"Diggory," chorused the Twins in unison

Cedric acknowledged them with a grin. "Fred, George. Up for a little sport later lads?" he offered, watching from the corner of his eye as Ginny pulled Hermione off to one side.

"I should co-co," came the united response.

"Fred, no George, no Fred," said Molly, trying to decide which twin was behind her. "Get the wine and George," she directed, "just pour the cheese sauce over the cauliflower and set it on the table." Molly hefted the casserole dish over to the table pursued by a handful of serving spoons. "Girls," Molly called. George circled the melee, holding a decanter of sloshing red liquid above his head and stepped precariously towards the table.

Arthur barrelled through the door, "I'll have that," he said, liberating the decanter and sliding the stopper out to give the contents a thorough sniff. "Aaah, just in time," he said, shrugging out of his coat before it flew across the room and added itself to the already overburdened coat hooks.

Cedric swivelled on his heels, the girls were heads together and there was a whole lot of hissing going on. Hermione had her arms crossed and a stubborn look marred an otherwise attractive face. He didn't remember her catching his eye before. It might be the Muggle clothing, spray on jeans and a pale pink V-neck hoodie under denim that made the annoyance staining her cheeks more vivid somehow.

"Have a good day dear?" Molly squeaked as her husband caught her about the waist and nom nommed her neck.

"The amnesty is turning up all sorts of things," he replied. "I brought an enchanted bird bath back with me because the storeroom is full."

Cedric looked away from their easy relationship and his face morphed into an unintended frown before settling his eyes on the girls again for distraction. Arthur set the wine on the table and ambled over to the kitchen sink to wash his hands. "Good to see you again H, Harry," he called. "Cedric, what brings you here?" Hermiones head lifted from Ginnys to stare at Cedric quite openly.

"Girls!" Molly called again. Ginny gave her best teen grunt and threw her hands up in mock despair.

Cedric startled out of his reflection of his own parents relationship, "oh, errr, it's about the World Cup." Over the twins singing the rude version of the 'The Fields of Athenry', he continued, "Dads arranged a Portkey on the top of Stoatshead Hill for us, I mean for you too, all of us," he clarified, atypically stumbling over his words. Hermiones suddenly knowing attention was doing his concentration no good at all.

"Sit, sit," urged Molly over the chorus of cheers.

"Only two days to go," Arthur rubbed his hands enthusiastically and settled at the head of the table. He drew off the lid of the casserole and stirred it suspiciously whilst the rest of the diners stirred themselves to join him. "Smells delicious," he announced. "What's in it?"

"Meat," said Molly firmly, handing him the first plate.

0.0

The mutton stew was delicious and Hermione mopped up the last of the thick juice with mash to clean her plate. She sat between Harry and Ron, occasionally jostled unintentionally by one or both of them, but if she thought about it, it would be to recognise that most of it was coming from Harry who was normally a meticulously neat eater.

She half listened to the older boys bantering and blagging about stats and odds and injuries to the various Quidditch teams. There was a lot of talk about wagering, but no-one seemed to want to put their money where their mouth was and Hermione eventually put it all down to bragging rights.

She ran a few numbers through her head and waved a waggly hand at them to temper the odds for the more trustworthy news articles that The Prophet ran. If there was anything that rag reported remotely truthfully, it would be on the back three pages dedicated to sport; moreover if anyone offered 5-2 for Ireland to win the final with Krum for snitch, she might just bite their hand off.

Ron leaned back in his chair, hands rubbing at his stomach so distended that it poked out above his jeans. "I'm stuffed," he moaned.

"Ugh, put it away," Hermione grumbled. She elbowed Harry, "Tell him."

Harry didn't respond, his neck was bright red and seemed to be having trouble breathing. He was also staring slack jawed at Ginny, who had her face shielded by one hand so that her Mother couldn't see the mischief written all over it. Hermione spared a glance around the table, to see who else might be watching, only to catch Cedric swiftly averting his gaze. He looked down and shifted his placemat a millimetre to the left before rejoining the Quidditch conversation. She made herself look away, back to the electricity between Harry and Ginny.

Hermione slouched in her chair, easing under the table a little and slipped off her shoe. Startling Ginny might not be a good idea and she didn't want to rat her friend out. She aimed a toe in her direction and caught her friends ankle almost immediately. Hermione scanned her face anxiously, but Ginny didn't bat an eye.

Hermione, pushed her toe cautiously up her friends shin to draw her attention, maybe she couldn't feel it through the denim. Cedric placed both palms flat on the table and stared at her curiously. She stared coolly back, desperate not to give her friend away in company and poked a toe as stealthily as she could under the inside of Ginnys knee. Beside Hermione, Harry shook like someone had dowsed him in ice water.

Mollys chair grated against the stone floor. She lifted the plate from under Rons nose, nodding meaningfully towards him and Ron bumped Hermiones shoulder in turn, "pass your plate," he grumbled. Ginny pushed her chair back and braced her hands on the table. Hermione stared first in surprise at the younger girl rising to help her Mother, then with a knotty, sinking feeling in her stomach, she realised that she was wearing a plaid skirt and leggings.

Under the table a warm hand took a firm grip on her heel and a square cut fingernail edged under the ribbing of her sock.

Harry stuffed a napkin over his lap before resting both fists on the table, sweat beaded under his hairline. Hermione crushed hers into a ball as her sock was peeled painfully slowly past the knobbly bit of her ankle bone.

Molly called over, "I hope you all left room for afters," rummaging in the fridge.

"I'd love some," Cedric uttered quietly.

A finger slipped either side of her heel inside the sock and brushed against her skin. The grip on her heel loosened and irrevocably, she and her sock began to part company. She scrunched her toes to hold onto the woolly material and above them, a firm thigh flexed in sympathy. Cedrics lips quirked a small smile.

"You can have custard, ice-cream or squirty ceam with it," said Arthur, setting down the choices as Molly sliced into the dish and doled out servings, then dallied by the coffee maker, tweaking and prodding buttons until it started to gurgle alarmingly.

"Yum," groaned Ron

"I thought you were full?" Queried Hermione harshly, careful not to catch Mollys eye, or come to think of it now in this instant, Ginnys either. Glancing across the table was a definite no-no. She rearranged herself that she was sitting with her newly bare foot under her and as far away from _him_ as possible, without actually leaving the table. Pie, once the pink pachyderm in the refrigerator had paled into insignificance in the light of daylight sock theft.

"I am," he confirmed, stretching obscenely, "but it's pie," said Ron, as if that explained everything. He passed her a generously filled bowl that she passed on to Harry, willing her hands not to shake as her big toe replayed over and again, the pressure of a playful tweak.

0.0

Harry excused himself at the first opportunity and Molly drew the girls into the sitting room, leaving Arthur and the boys to clear and wash up. Talk had moved on to the Twins latest escapade into the world of big business with the catchy title of The Potion of Random Effects. Apparently the idea was to open a type of Casino, the entry fee would be a galleon and a dose of the cordial. They had already lined up premises just off Diagon Alley and were ironing out the final details with the local agents.

Mollly sat and began without preamble, "speaking of protection, I think we've done that one to death."

"Nice pie, Mum," winked Ginny.

"I thought so dear," Molly continued as if she had not interrupted. "Now, we need to have a little chat about etiquette. Ginny, if you would like to demonstrate, just your face mind?"

Hermione fidgeted uncomfortably, "is this what you did before?" she asked.

Ginny nodded and closed her eyes whilst her facial features and hairstyle altered itself drastically. Molly annotated the change as Hermione watched in awe. "There is age as counted by a Muggle and there is age as counted by Magic. 'Showing oneself' she finger quoted is something that you do when you are ready to be serious and I mean really serious with a partner." There was no need to elaborate further. They had been having these little chats for about 18 months now and Mollys no-nonsense approach to whole thing had reduced the mortification to a level that Hermione could at least cope with, even if it was a subject that she had no interest in. She ranked it alongside learning about the magical factions within the government, oddly fascinating if you are that way inclined, but for now, somewhat distant of purpose.

Ginny smiled in her new face, eyes sharp and twinkling as she caught sight of a figure just outside the window that drew swiftly back out of sight. "I think the boys have finished," she said jumping up.

"Any questions," Molly left hanging

"Err," started Hermione.

Molly waved at her youngest, "put that away and you can join the boys."

Ginny grimaced sweetly and allowed her distinctive features to resurrect themselves. She sauntered back out into the kitchen, closing the door carefully behind her.

"Everyone does it," said Molly, trying to explain. "A great deal of the magical world is hidden from you at this point remember and not all of it is as fluffy as Hogwarts would have you believe. There are reasons that we keep our true selves hidden, many to do with masking our ability in the event that we have to prove ourselves in combat." Hermione frowned and Molly continued. "Think of it as the ace up your sleeve that no-one knows about, except of course for your nearest and dearest. Some people make a sport of seeing how many they can unmask." Molly winked and Hermione immediately thought of the uncommonly irritating visitor next door.

"Consider it an accolade if you like," mused Molly, "if you find yourself pursued, but make sure your first thoughts are to your own protection and," she finished firmly, "the long game."

"How does hiding it help?" asked Hermione, completely confused.

"The greater your magical ability, the older your 'other' face appears. It's not just your face that ages too. Wielding magic takes a certain toll on the body," Molly added wistfully. "If we continue to practise, we pass young in Muggle terms."

"Can you make someone do it?" asked Hermione

"You can, if they allow it," said Molly thoughtfully, "but I would have to question their motives in not offering first or agreeing if asked, should you find yourself in that delicate situation. It's not something you take no for an answer for if everything is above board. Here, I'll show you how," and with that, she whisked out her wand and pointed it at Hermiones chest.

0.0

Hermione spotted Arthur hastily passing his cigar to Cedric when she and Molly reappeared. He winked at her conspiratorially as Cedric took up the fat cheroot and let it burn propped up in his fingers with an expertise that suggested the accessory was not entirely foreign to him. An odd taint of liquorice swirled in the air with the smoke and Hermione waved a hand through it and wrinkled her nose. Cedric tapped the cigar and left it burning on the edge of an ashtray, he flicked his gaze between her and his cards as she circled the table to take up a position behind him. He was one card short of a royal flush. He fanned his cards wider as if to show her and then snapped them shut again when she absently put a hand on the back of his chair in passing.

His hair needed a trim, she thought, the ducks arse at the back had grown out and brushed his collar. If that had been Ron, it would have been a race between her and Molly for the scissors. She had only ever really seen Cedric from at a distance at school, but he was normally immaculately presented with just the knot of his tie a little loose. Hermione put her hands behind her and leant against the dresser whilst she considered Mollys recent explanation, especially the part about sex as a sport.

It was odd that they had not run into each other earlier, given how friendly he seemed to be with boys, but then maybe not given the difference in Houses and age. He was, after all, a rare Hufflepuff in a room full of Gryffindors.

She read the other players for a bit of respite from her musings. Harry was too intense, not a contender, or more likely, he was avoiding Ginny propped up on the matching dresser across the other side of the room from him. Ron was too smug, low straight she guessed. The Twins sat opposite one another and were harder to read, they were focused and the dance of their eyebrows reminded Hermione of semaphore. Arthurs relaxed pose suggested that he was playing for fun, but she had learnt that his questioning about the Muggle world was most insatiable when his tone was at its most innocuous.

Cedric glanced at the failing light at the windows just as he turned up the missing Queen. Hermione waited for him to announce his position and collect the winnings but he simply slotted the new card into the correct place, sighed happily and then folded his hand to a chorus of groans from the other players. His fingers beat 'shave and a haircut' on the table top. Two bits were added by the Twins slapping their hands of cards face down on the table in turn, completing what appeared to be a tradition of sorts between them.

"I need to be getting back, it's getting late."

"What did you have Ced?" asked Ron and scowled when Fred kicked him under the table.

Cedric smiled and pushed back from the table, he offered his hand to Arthur. "Thank you for dinner, Sir. See you at Seven a.m. Please pass my thanks to Mrs Weasley." He nodded to the other players, saying, "lads," before his gaze lingered on Hermione.

The pot remained intact and there was a chorus of "Diggory" from the assembly as Fred collected the cards, including Cedrics face down. No-one looked at them and a swift shuffle obliterated the winning streak.

Cedric cleared his throat and his hand made it half way to his hair before he turned it into a sweeping gesture.

"Walk me out?" Cedric said to Hermione. She frowned and glanced at Ginny, perhaps he would return her sock. The younger girl shrugged and took Cedrics place, grinning as Harry angled his chair so that Ron was directly in line with his sister.

Cedric paused just outside the back door, leaving barely enough room for Hermione to squeeze out. As it was the door knob caught her on the behind when it closed and she had to put a hand on his hip to move him out the way to give herself enough room. He focused on her hand for the moment that she touched him and she dropped it self-consciously. She forced herself to bite the apology on her tongue in half since it was his fault, not her misdemeanour, sort of. Colour flooded her face and she was thankful that he looked distracted, shrugging into his coat and shovelling a hand through his hair when he rounded on her. "Listen, I really am sorry about earlier, the name thing, but you…" he said earnestly.

"It's fine," she lied, uncomfortable under his scrutiny, even in the near dark and grappling with how to ask for her sock back without making a complete idiot of herself.

The doorway was filling with the subtle tang of liquorice, smoke and leather. Never having smoked before, she suddenly gained an insight into the whole, 'I don't know what to do with my hands' feeling, or at least the 'a cigarette would stop me putting my hands where they don't belong,' feeling. She had an insane urge to raid his pockets for her sock and damn the consequences.

Ron would have let her. No, she corrected herself, Ron wouldn't have taken it. She started again, she wouldn't have been playing footsie with Ron in the first place. Oh Gawd, she suddenly thought, maybe Cedric didn't have it at all. A Twin? An 'Ew' pulled her lips into a dolly-bag moue.

"No hard feelings?" Cedric offered his hand, cocking his head curiously. She gave it a boyz n' da hood shake, briefly wrapping her fingers around his thumb, before knocking his palm with the backs of her knuckles and tucked both hands safely away, under her armpits.

"Oh, errr…Muggle thing right?" he chuckled, eyebrows climbing and nodding a little while he fiddled awkwardly with the double tab zipper on his flying jacket. She shifted, annoyed that he was still managing to annoy her by proximity, the lack of sock references and maybe about the Muggle comment. Eventually he managed to get the zipper edges to match and tugged the top tab barely up at all.

"Yeah, so, I guess I'll see you on the Hill?" he stepped away and gave a half wave with two fingers posed like a benediction, "don't be late!" The odd feeling of wanting to rub her shoulders across the brickwork made her fidget and ball her hands into fists. She had been fine up until today. Maybe it was something in the gravy.

She watched his back as far as the edge of the lawn, then hurried inside to retrieve to the wood iron. If there was one way to clear the feeling of whatever it was from her system, hitting something was bound to help.

The back door clicked again as she returned armed and dangerous. The new bird table tried to follow her across the lawn until she threatened it with a club. She was in no mood to be trifled with, especially after Ginnys enquiring glance at her lone bare ankle. Clearly there was an expectation that he would merely breathe on her and she would roll over…or curl up at the edges, or something.

Hermione found that tactile memory is an unenviable foe when it came to concentration. A gnome planting thistles, aka 'the rib incident,' became a bad parody of the 'It's only a flesh wound' scene from her Mothers favourite Monty Python film. An uneven line of toadstools resulting from her being forced to pursue an injured quarry up the garden was labelled 'cupboard gate.'

A cool breeze kissed her bare skin while she hunted for a net, a decapitation had landed in the ornamental pond when she had noticed a figure in the reeds turn and slope away. If Molly was fortunate, Hermione thought, crashing about in the shed, she might just need to clear the entire colony.

A/N 'The Fields of Athenry,' is an Irish folk ballad sung at rugby matches by supporters when an Irish team play. Shave and a hair cut, two bits is a seven note riff common as an ending in bluegrass/folk music. I know it from the film, "Who framed Roger Rabbit."

Next post date is on my profile. The answer to the chapter 2 question is the main ingredient in the pie in this one. Cosmo is involved. C'mon down to my level, I'll get a ladder.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: JK Rowling probably had nothing to do with Alan Rickman being cast as Professor Snape, but if she did, I prostrate myself at her feet. He is here for those of you who like a little scenery with their meat and two veg. Go and watch Truly, Madly, Deeply. Take tissues. Oh, and the forecast here is erm, wet.

Cedric paused in the epic task of preparing for the new term and poked his head over the banister to eavesdrop on the conversation below.

"I can assure you that Cedric will be perfectly safe within the perimeters of Hogwarts, Amos," came an unmistakeable drawl.

"And on the way there?" retorted his Fathers strident tones.

"I shall be escorting the students," there was a pause as if the next word pained the speaker to say it, "personally." The visitor had a strange habit of drawing his 's's into a sibilance that raised the hairs on Cedrics arms. He risked treading a stair closer to be sure of his identification.

"Ah, here he is now," a twitch in the skin over Professor Snapes cheekbone gave as close to a welcome smile as Cedric had ever seen, although to the unknowing, it had all the hallmarks of a tic.

"Professor?" greeted Cedric

The reply came in a form that suggested that the discussion was closed. "I'm sure your Father will explain. Was there anything else..?" The tic was back.

"I wonder if I might trouble you for a favour," started Cedric. "I'll see him out," he stated brightly to his Father, waiting until the bluff, muttering figure had retreated to the confines of his study before he continued.

"I realise that the study carrels are allocated by the Steering Committee, but I found that the position and size of mine particularly beneficial for my 'advanced' studies last year."

Snape said nothing, but his nostrils flared as if scenting for truth, or a lie. Eventually Cedric gleaned the suggestion of a nod from his silent companion.

"I would very much like the Committee to consider my suggestion for the person with whom I might be sharing this year."

The schools prospectus proudly boasted a strong link between the year groups, fostered by the House system and the informal interactions of students within both sporting and study pursuits. All of this was true. What became more obvious as he progressed up the school, also fostered by this system and the preponderance of male-female sharing of study carrels across student years, was that the unofficial pursuit of Eugenics was also true.

"These things are…possible," came the ambivalent reply, "for a suitable student."

Cedric adopted his most deferent air. "I know its customary to pair a Sixth Year with a Fifth Year, but I was wondering Professor, what you thought of my taking a student two years or more below me under my wing?"

The skin around Snapes eyes tightened imperceptibly and a lascivious glint shone for a mere second, or it could have just been a reflection of the light in the hallway.

Cedrics voice dropped to a whisper. "How did you find the Exploding Ink potion? The spider got through undetected by the Ministry?"

Snapes gaze looked right through Cedric and drilled into the back of his head. The corners of his mouth flexed downwards by a hairsbreadth. Cedric resisted the urge to squirm, opting instead for his most studious expression. He opened his mouth to speak again, but was cut off.

"Name?" asked the Professor coldly dispassionate.

0.0

Cedric methodically stacked the immaculately folded piles of clothing into his school trunk. Beside him a quill quivered over the next item in a list of required accessories and ticked it with a flourish as the physical counterpart was added to the growing contents of uniform, sports and muftie clothing, unders and overs. Sixth year students also had a book trunk, chock full of their own tomes to annotate that would form the kernel of their own adult library, and for the first time, an ingredients cabinet that they were to have fashioned themselves over the Summer. The monied or idle amongst them would have them made to order and knock them about a bit with a hammer to give them that sought after run-in look, a bit like taking a razor blade to a perfectly good pair of jeans.

Cedric had taken the trouble to construct his own and used as his inspiration, an antique Chinese medicine chest he has seen in one of the villages many nooks and knackery shops. The dove tailed joints on the corners were virtually invisible and the finish flawless. He had enjoyed bending the different materials to his will, shaping something precious and useful to him from something stubborn and inanimate.

He had picked up the bodkin at the same time, seduced by the snug fit of the worn, but beautifully turned wooden handle in the palm of his hand, and how sharply pointy the pointy end was.

The cabinets five rows of five drawers apiece were not full depth and by a sleight of engineering, the lid hinged backwards and up so that the remaining contents expanded outwards and arranged themselves in easy to reach tiers of small, stoppered glass bottles. The labels were in a clear, if encrypted script and were perfect except for the somewhat incongruous corner cartouches that belied their original purpose for home-made preserves.

As a serious Quidditch player he also had a modified ice-hockey bag, large enough to hide bodies in, open at the bottom of his bed. He exploited the Muggle world when it suited him and it pleased him to think that he walked astride both Muggle and Magical worlds well enough to fit in anywhere. He tossed in shin guards, rib protectors, a new box and a tested a second one for manly odours before adding that too, as a spare.

The quill flicked impatiently to a new page and marked off these items also, breaking into a flurry when a dozen balled up sports socks juggled themselves in the air and fell neatly packing out the corners, closely followed by House-coloured gaiters. As Captain, he added the team scorebook with its badger skin cover neatly embossed with the House symbol and claw clasp; rolls of attendance logs and the thing with no name that looked like a shoehorn which allowed a player to replace the rubber grippy bit on a broomstick. New ones these days came with a free swear jar. His version had a series of unusual notches down one side.

He paced the length of his bed and back, the Yearbook taunted him from his pillow. Someone else was walking the two worlds as he was and a nagging worry suggested that she might be more able in this task than him. She looked better put together in Muggle clothing than he did for starters, even when he tried his hardest. She might also be useful as a source of such information in the long term.

Tidbits about Hermione came with tea and cake from Professors Sprouts study, crumbs mopped up by fingertip and tasted for potential. Professor McGonagalls visits provided both filling and icing to a morsel almost too good to consume. Hermione might prove to be both formidable ally _and_ adversary.

"What do you do for fun?" he asked himself. It did not appear to be golf. Memories her grunting had kept him 'up' all night.

Cedric glanced longingly at the en-suite and the quill flicked pages to the back of the pad and started to draw a diagonal line across four vertical ones. When he made no further move, pages rose indecisive and fluttered loudly until they again exposed his original list.

Long fingers drummed on his thighs and he wondered if he had given his interest away to his Father when they had returned home alone, after the World Cup debacle. He shied away from reliving the horror and not a little embarrassment at most of the Ministry cowering away from the hooded intruders. The incident had made a complete mockery of the match security, especially embarrassing given the international attendees. He shook his head to clear the images of smoke and flames from his mind, trying to concentrate instead on their heated debate about the safety of certain individuals, when all hell had broken loose.

It wouldn't do for his Father to foster an opinion any other than that Cedric would dutifully follow his Fathers wishes. Nor would it do, to draw attention to an individual such as the party he was becoming more interested in. Muggle born anything, magical or otherwise was quite the dirty word for some of his Fathers closest colleagues, for all that their public voices might say. In addition, the Ministry occasionally had some very strange ideas about what posed a threat and its reactions were more often than not, quite extraordinary.

His strained alliance with Professor Snape had come about in fits and starts, united by a common goal of exposing organised indolence. It seemed that the Ministry monitored Floo traffic, regularly intercepted owls, but were at a loss coping with Message Spiders dipped in Exploding Ink. If anyone had asked him why he had chosen this path to pursue, the best answer would have been 'because he could.'

Eventually he had sent his own owl to the Weasleys enquiring, in the most general terms he could come up with, about how they had fared. He had received a reply less than an hour later in Mollys handwriting confirming that all members _and visitors_ were accounted for and unharmed. She ended with her best wishes for his year ahead and that she would love to catch up with his Mother at Kings Cross for coffee, (gossip), news (gossip) and which team she fancied for the next Quidditch world series, (a lengthy discussion on the size of players thighs) when the students had all been despatched.

He grazed his fingertip down the spine of the Yearbook and it flicked open, languidly turning page after page until his thumb on the bottom edge stopped the motion. The Yearbooks were handed out in the first year and 'lived' throughout a students attendance at Hogwarts. Pages past told of students who for one reason or another had left the school, and inbetween, dividing the years was the posterity shot of the group of students who survived each gruelling term alongside him.

He had added an extra column to the schools ranking tables to mark up how his colleagues faired in the Forbidden Forest games. They would no doubt, make more interesting reading when everyone had graduated and he could add what jobs people ended up in. This years picture pages reassembled the students rejoining him and it was one of these pages that was causing him some concern. His palm smoothed over a page.

The quill on his unfinished list teared a small inkblot, laid itself down and tried to sooth its ruffled feather.

On the ladies page, nine pictures now showed, where once there were eight. On a most basic level, it messed up the symmetry of the two rows of four, adding itself first to the bottom line, then the top, then the top of the page all by itself. Each time he tried to add a pensieve, it smeared like the streak from a dirty eraser.

Eight of the shots were in motion as wizardly pictures were apt to be, the ninth still flickered, but became darker every time he opened the page. Not only did she walk the worlds like him, she was about to join him _in_ his world. The name was graven and steady each time, before it was reabsorbed by the page, only to reappear, that much at least was certain. Hermione Granger.

He snapped the cover shut and tossed the book into the trunk atop a white sock that was big enough for his cock, but not the boys and too small for his hand, let alone his foot. It was a risk taking the book, but he knew enough to be confident of hiding it and there was no doubt it would be useful to consult from time to time. The quill popped up with a new vigour and slopped ink in its haste to wet the nib. Cedric went to the en-suite to fetch his toiletries.

It was not unheard of for students to advance beyond their years, but there was something very wrong about how the Yearbook was coping with the change. He wondered if adding the pensieves had damaged the magical parchment, but was loathe to take them out. Hermiones plain portrait frame sprang to mind. No matter how long he waited, her face on the page had remained indistinct, like the book didn't know which one of many images best captured her. The most peculiar thing was though, however hard he stared at the image, unlike the rest of them, hers did not appear to be moving.

0.0

Kings Cross was rammed with Muggles interspersed with Hogwarts students and their parents, yet still Cedric managed to locate the Weasley group with relative ease. Their overall group size made them an easy spot, the hair colour was a bonus. He murmured to his Mother and held himself still so that she could ruffle his hair with an affection rarely shown, before leaving him to his own devices.

He had barely a minute before his usual acolytes found him, pushing and shoving amongst themselves. Enough time to see that Arthur had surreptitiously whipped out his wand and pointed it at one of the wheels of the baggage trolley when Hermione stopped him. Enough time to see him squat down beside the trolley and Hermione bent over at the waist, presumably to explain why every trolley in the station was designed to have at least one wonky wheel as per the instructions from The Ministry of Crap Design.

Her jeans painted her arse as a perfect heart shape, pale blue on a grey background. His minds eye stripped away the cloth covering and imagined trailing a fingernail barely deforming the downy skin, following the crease to the softly furred bottom of the cleft. He groaned the word '_peach _' to himself, poking a tongue into his cheek to collect the pooling saliva and stuffed a furtive hand in his pants pocket to rearrange a rising problem. Tomas crashed into him just as he spied a black-clad scarecrow like form, also it seemed, admiring the view.

Awkwardly he angled his trolley towards the platform and safely away from temptation. The train would be just pulling in he thought, as he slipped through a gap in the throng. As soon as the train pulled away from the station, he would be able to use the changing rooms for one of their less than salubrious uses. If he was fortunate, someone would keep him company.

0.0

Hermione slung her drawstring bag of robes over her shoulder and made her way up the train towards the changing rooms. There was no doubt in her mind that Harry should have contacted Sirius without her having to prompt him. Also no doubt that Ron waggling a tongue blackened by a liquorice wand lewdly at her, deserved to have his head stuffed between his knees. She put a hand out to either side of the corridor to steady herself against the rocking motion of the train as she approached the changing room doors.

One was shut tight and displayed a red 'engaged' sign in a semi-circular window above the door handle. The other displayed the same sign, but the tongue of the door clasp banged rhythmically against the latch frame with every rattle and roll that the carriage made.

The room was indeed engaged, by Cho Chang and an absorbed attendant offering a stop-motion display of athleticism. Hermione stared open mouthed at Chos' neck stretched way back and her contorted face, upside down in a mirror behind. A fist held her braid, attached to an arm that stretched under her bare shoulder and passed under her bare knee. Her bare behind was balanced on a marble vanity, her other leg circled a well proportioned masculine rear, moving in time with the clickety-click of the wheels on the track.

His hair was freshly cut into a crisp point at the back, above broad flexing shoulder blades pleasantly, but not overly muscled. He was looking down at where his moving hips alternately hid and exposed glistening purpled flesh, but she could see his flushed face, eyes trained on the matter in hand so to speak and brow furrowed in concentration. His lips were moving, counting or repeating latin verbs perhaps, _eram, eras, erat_. No, not that. Four syllables, she thought, so fascinated with the puzzle he offered that she held the door slightly further ajar.

It could have been the cessation of the door banging, or the trains loud whistle indicating that they were about to enter a tunnel that made him look up into the mirror. Or Tomas exiting the companion dressing room in his robes and saying her name so that it matched the way Cedric was saying whatever it was that he was mouthing, right before his smooth motion jerked and shuddered to a halt with the accompanying expletive of, "fuck me."

0.0

Hermione approached the boards for Fourth years listing the allocation of study carrels with some impatience. The boys were supposed to meet her here, but were obviously still unpacking, or waylaid by some new invention brought for trial on the willing student body by the Twins. Briefly she wondered what she might have to do to get a study carrel all by herself, the next best thing was to get a sharer who at least was not an idiot like last year.

"Who got King Dong?" asked a Fifth Year.

"He's not listed. No-one got him." Came the doubtful reply.

"I got him," a smug voice belonging to a girl with her black hair braided halfway down her back

"No, you _had_ him," a third joined in.

"Damn, he's good," Cho rolled her head back into her shoulders.

Hermione chewed the inside of her cheek. Study. Focus. List. Then change of underwear. The wand up her sleeve shifted and she pulled it out for something to do while she waited for her turn at the boards. The topmost vine leaf had pulled away from the main wand wood and appeared to stretch before furling itself flush again, against the rod. Hermione rubbed her thumb over it, sensing the slight stir beneath the pad of her thumb. Olivanders books had warned her that not only were wands living, but Vine wands in particular were visibly sentient.

She wondered what it was exactly that initiated it, but shied away from the thought that the Burrows visit and happenings therein had anything to do with it. She was still down a sock and still pissed, having realised that had a Twin stolen it, it would have been paraded as a trophy like a head on a spike, complete with similar vilification. Moreover she would hate to be indebted to a certain someone for awakening her wand, when she had been unable to do it herself.

"Found him!" An exultant voice called.

"What's he doing there? She's a freaking Fourth year?" replied Cho, annoyed.

"Exploring virgin territories?" Coarse laughter ensued, the comment about Fourth years snapped Hermiones attention back to the current task.

"Forging new alliances more like," came the knowing reply, not unkindly. "I wouldn't mind an another _alliance_."

"You should at least wait until you can walk straight before you go another round with Mister Ed."

"Don't get all bent out of shape because I got there first."

"Wasn't me that was bent and Honey, you were anything but first. He has form"

"Certainly does…" the comments died off as one by one they turned to leave and registered the audience.

Cho smirked at Hermione. "Congratulations," she said obscurely before sauntering off.

Hermione marched up to the boards and huffed hair out of her eyes, scanning the lists bottom to top for the boys names and then her own. Ron and Harry were sharing together, which in itself was odd, save that Harry seemed to be a bit of a hot potato since his dreams started getting invaded by you-know-who. The name originally paired with hers had been struck through and a new surname and initial had been added in different penmanship.

Hermione blew out a breath. "Nooo," she groaned. "Merlin hates me."

0.0

Cedric roamed the empty hallways of the fifth floor, deep in thought. His dress shoes clicked a steady beat and he interrupted it with a 1-2-3, 2-2-3, smiling at his most recent achievement, wringing praise from the cool lips of the Grey Lady. He needed something to pique Hermiones interest, but had no clue what that something might be outside of turning himself into a library.

The only other faint possibility might be something Quidditch related, but she didn't seem the sort to moon over his trophy cupboard. For once he didn't think the toys he possessed would quite hit the spot either, although he was certain that his own equipment would be more than up to the mark if he ever got that close.

He passed a door he didn't remember being there before, set into a cathedral-like stone archway. Pausing in his stride, he rotated on his heel to try the handle. The cool metal depressed smoothly under his touch. When he crossed the threshold, closing the door behind him, the door and its ornate arch faded seamlessly into the masonry.

0.0

In an uncharacteristic hissy fit, Hermione ripped the hair tie from her plait, shook her tresses free and scrubbed both hands harshly against her scalp. She slammed spare quills and parchment into the sectioned spaces of the carrel to make it her own. Gahhh! If only she could get him out of her head.

"_Speculos,"_ she huffed as an impression of a mirror coalesced in front of her.

"Great," she muttered as the birdsnest she had created became apparent, "now I have Hagrid hair." She was about to raise her wand to fix the disarray, sucking in a breath to speak the words when they stuck in her throat.

Her own image was now accompanied by the reflection of a slim figure strolling into view. Could the day get any worse? It was bad enough that they timeshared a study carrel and now she looked like _this_ and it was _him!_

"What are you doing here?" She gritted her teeth to try and keep her tone even, after all, it wouldn't do to piss off Mr Popular. He just smiled and tapped his wristwatch. Horrified she glanced at her own timepiece, she had 5 minutes to get to potions on the other side of the Quad. Snape was going to have a field day.

"You know, you shouldn't practice on yourself without somebody with you." Cedrics quiet voice turned the would-be question into a statement. As if he could feel her hackles rising, he shrugged off his backpack, drawing nearer.

"It could be dangerous," his tone was mollifying and closer, warmer. His eyes held her own in the mirror, the shifting grey of mercury as she snapped her gaze back to her own reflection and the abomination on her head. More importantly _away_ from his face now embarrassingly close to her own, since he bent to closer inspect her magical handiwork.

Again she cursed the heritage that made a blush inevitable. As if sensing her discomfort, he swallowed thickly and drew away.

"I'll wait," he offered, his voice was deeper, now that he was actually touching her. "Or perhaps help?" She fought to keep her eyes open, but couldn't stop her mouth sagging open at the gentle tugging sensation his long fingers created against her scalp. His face was such a study of concentration, she could almost believe that he had never caressed a girl before, the blush high on his cheekbones echoing her own. Except that he had, more importantly she had seen the many ways exactly _how_ he had caressed a girl before...in the flakes of the snowglobe, now buried deep in the recesses of her satchel.

She clenched her jaw shut and bolted upright, cringing equally at the tangle still caught between his fingers and how close the chair back had come to unmanning him. "I have to go," she snapped.

"Of course," he agreed, dropping both his hand and his gaze to the floor. "I have a curiosity I would like to share with you sometime," he rambled as she shoved papers and books roughly into her bag.

"Yes?" she replied in what she hoped was a sufficiently academically interested voice.

"It's quite fascinating..." She turned to face him, slinging the bulging bag over her shoulder and fiddling with her necklace, it was the only way she was going to make it. All she needed to do was just get out of sight and forget the last five minutes. He was blushing furiously, staring at his feet, fisting his gown so that it wrapped in front of him.

"It's a snowglobe I found in the Room of Requirement. Madame Trelawney believes it capable of foretelling."

She flushed hotly from the images threatening to parade yet again behind her eyelids and the dismay that in a moment he would find it missing and know it was her.

"Do you have it? Only I left it here for you..." He rested his wand on top of the carrel and was casting about the desk, sifting papers. She went from mortified to disgusted in three seconds flat.

"You _left_ it for me?" Is that how he wormed his way into the affections of the other girls he had been seen with...and she was sure that each and every one and been more than simply arm candy. From the evidence that her own eyes had offered her on the train, to the conversations over her head at the boards and the hushed gossip and tittering in the common room.

If there is one thing that girls do really well, it's talk. Hermione had always managed to rise above these conversations, not least because she had nothing add and had little interest in the subject matter, well, until his name came up again..and again...and again. She glared balefully at his wand, his wand was supposed to be Mountain Ash with Unicorn tail, it should have been Sycamore with a core of Bluebeard hair.

"I know you don't have time now, but perhaps we could discuss it later..." his voice went from warm and distracted to silence when he caught the look on her face. "What?"

"This?" She hissed, fishing in her bag and striding towards him. As soon as her fingers clamped around the cool sphere she ripped it from her bag. She was so furious her hand was shaking when she thrust it under his perplexed expression.

She was closer than she had intended and he wrapped a cool hand about her exposed wrist to pull the globe away a little, cupping his other hand around the glass to make the tiny shiny flakes more visible.

"Yes, that's it!" He said delightedly. "I knew it was you." His smile threaded through every word, then after a moment with a hint of humour, "are you mad at me?"

Her next invective died in her throat as she caught sight of the scene now playing out in their combined hands. The man holding her wrist in real life was holding the hand of a young woman, her trim waist accentuated by the full skirt she wore and his other hand splayed beneath her ribs.

It was most definitely him, she thought as the couple spun to present a view of his profile and she squirmed inwardly at the rapt expression of the young woman being guided flawlessly in a waltz.

"This..." she heaved in another breath, "this is what you saw?"

"Um yeah, so I've been taking lessons from the Grey Lady, you know for the Gala, until I got my footwork right and she says I'm ready to practice with a real girl."

"I.., you want to practice dancing with me?" She couldn't take her eyes of the miniature scene, he was getting her a glass of punch and smiling at her fanning herself, gesturing to a stone arch that promised stars beyond. Of course, that's what he saw, she fumed at herself.

"You know you're pretty scary when you're mad," he wasn't looking at the globe anymore and his grip on her wrist tightened imperceptibly as he reached for her face, brushing an eyelash from her cheekbone. Her gaze flicked between his face and the globe gone dark, the figures glowing palely under a crescent moon.

"The rest of the time you're just pretty."

"You want crackers with that cheese?" she said, flicking back to his face and raising a brow.

He laughed good naturedly and dropped his hand to her waist, tugging her forward. "You see, you're perfect for me, err this." He stared earnestly into her eyes, "say you will?" She gasped as she brushed up against him, his gaze darkening, drawing her in.

The tip of her tongue pressed briefly between her lips. "What's in it for me?" she croaked out.

"That depends what you want, I thought perhaps my special access to the restricted section in the library might interest you?" His lips ghosted over the wrist holding the globe, when his body froze. His hands dropped away, retrieving a monogrammed handkerchief from his pocket and she stumbled against him, weightless to mortal without his support as he plucked the globe from her grasp with the cloth.

"Yes, that would be.."

"Maybe it's a dumb idea, I'm sorry I..." He stepped away, resting the small wrapped parcel carefully on the desktop.

"No, really, it's fine." She stepped after him.

"I don't know," he said doubtfully, searching her face for something she couldn't read.

"Cedric, I want to." Crap, now it sounded like she was asking him for a favour, how the hell had it come to this. She reached for her bag again, so much for a hasty exit.

"Um thanks, it really would help." He rammed both hands in his pants front pockets. He sighed heavily, "listen, I'm sorry I've made you really late now, let me walk you to class so I can square it with your tutor."

She rolled her eyes, of course Mr Perfect would be able to get around Snape, she could almost hear the nasally sarcasm in the words, "Thank-you for granting us the pleasure of your company (add snide lip twist, pause) Ms Granger." Her lip curled and she said rather too sharply, "I can manage myself thank-you."

His sheepish smile made her temporarily breathless.

"What?" Her tone could clip topiary

"You hate it don't you?" He reached to touch a finger to her elbow and she barely managed not to flinch away. "That someone isn't scared of you. Guys are always afraid of the smart girl right?"

"Whatever." Great reply Hermione, she thought, incisive comeback, floor him with your intellect. She turned and walked away

"Meet me after Quidditch tomorrow? " He called after her. "We're going to cream you guys."

"In your dreams Hufflehead," she called back over her shoulder, her pulse steadying with every step away from him.

His chuckle mocked her and as she turned the corner she thought he might have said, "in my dreams indeed."

The second time she wound the hourglass pendant, she made it to class with seconds to spare. The topic was one that she would have to find extra time to revisit, in spite of her perfect rendition of _Dunderdew_, she was barely concentrating. She wrinkled her nose at the acrid fumes coming off the bubotuber juice and swallowed the nervousness she felt about tomorrow. Tonight she would dream about the first time she had wound the hourglass...and him groaning her name.

A/N: Sycamore is considered a weed by most gardeners as it sets seed prolifically. The Ministry of Crap Design is not limited to trolleys, they also make hotel coffee pots. Eram, eras, erat is indeed latin and means I am, You are, He/she is. imperfect (tense), the rest of the catechism is eramus eratis, erant. Mister Ed was a television character and took the form of a talking horse.

This was supposed to be a short chapter, but in conversation after the last one with my muse, Montanna Leigh, she said bigger is better. Right, she is. You can use the Yoda voice, there is no judgement here.

Thank you for reading. FF tells me that many of you are reading where English is not the mother tongue. You amaze me.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N JK Rowling used Wand wood related to characters birthdays, when it suited here. I plant a tree on the same day every year.

Professor Snape dispensed his usual wisdom with sarcastic boredom and Hermione was relieved to pass out of the classroom without him having baited her directly. Her arch nemesis seemed more irascible with the class than usual and somewhat distracted.

For her own part, every time he passed behind her desk and paused, the tiny hairs on the back of her neck crawled. She lost count of the number of times she dropped her quill on the floor and had to scrabble inelegantly at his feet to retrieve it. The final time, she had dared to meet his glittering black gaze before hurriedly turning away and missed the way his mouth had folded in on itself when her ponytail had brushed his knee.

The glint of anticipation in the Professors eye as the class drew to a close, she put down to his unleashing an avalanche of homework, due in unfeasibly quickly. An unrestrained groan from the class filled the basement classroom.

"I am a reasonable man," Professor Snape interjected and the class held its breath at the blatant lie. "Extensions are available." The tutor allowed a snide smile to wash over his lips, "at the expense of house points."

He sat back in his chair behind his desk and finished coldly. "Now. Get. Out."

When he was quite alone, he pulled a page of illustrations clearly torn from a textbook, from an inner pocket. He pursed his lips, scanning down until he found the one that closest matched his observations, in which a vine, two topmost leaves and a tendril arched away from a main stem that tapered at the top, just like a wand.

0.0

A lightness picked up Hermiones step as soon as she reached natural daylight and she teased Harry and Ron with the delights that might await them in their first Transfiguration class of the new term. She reminded them that Dumbledore was taking them today and was a lot less stringent about what was suitable for Fourth years, preferring instead to teach to ability rather than age.

"I still can't do beetles into buttons," whined Ron

"I'm alright with mice into matchboxes," said Harry solidly, "but I'm not sure about anything where it goes from one size to the other."

"It's all about displacement," Hermione started in a lecturing tone. "It all has to go somewhere."

"A bit like a ladyboy?" sniggered Ron.

"What's he on about?" She asked Harry, who had turned tomato red.

"It's when a man pretends to be a woman," he muttered unhappily.

"You mean like in Panto?" She pressed, curious. She couldn't see the connection at all.

"Erm, no. Not really." When he made a crude gesture she clapped Ron hard around the back of his head.

"Owww," he complained. "It's alright for you, everything's easy for you."

She growled and stomped off ahead. She had stopped trying to tell him long ago that everything was, in fact, not easy for her at all. Rather, she invested a great deal of time in acquiring knowledge instead of say, investigating all the flavours of Bertie Botts Jelly Bean Surprise assortment. It just looked easy to others, because when the time came to use something, she had read it once and practised twice already.

She settled into her seat and sighed happily when she saw the array of prospective subjects set up at the front of the class. She was sure she could manage something suitable with everything there. Professor Dumbledore watched her reaction thoughtfully and when she caught his twinkling eye, he winked at her, making her smile. He pursed his lips and twirled the wispy tip of his beard repeatedly around his forefinger.

The class went well once Ron finally started to concentrate. Hermione was blind to the fact that he performed much better when she watched him and was instead distracted with tamping down the desperate urge to just do it for him already and get it done. Dumbledore however, did not miss a thing. As far as he was concerned, a wizard who could not perform in his own right was no more use than a squib and he would have no student of his graduating in such poor form. He gently requested that she stay behind after class for a brief chat.

"I think," he said consideringly, when the last student had filed out, "you may be ready for bigger and better things."

"Something the size of a cat?" she said excitedly, clapping her hands together.

"More advanced than that my dear," he patted her shoulder in an avuncular fashion, guiding her so that they walked towards the door together. "I think in a year, if you studied sufficiently, you could bypass the O.W.L and take your N.E.W.T early."

Hermione was beside herself with glee and equally with panic. "That's three years work," she squeaked.

"We would arrange a peer mentor for you because of your age of course," he continued.

"Mentor," she repeated. Yes, it was sometimes easier to learn something from another student than a Professor, although to be honest she preferred to gather the original information herself, without it being warped by straining it through someone elses brain first.

"I'll send an owl to Professor McGonagall in 306B," he agreed. "I'm sure she can suggest someone suitable."

"Thank you, I think," she stammered. Then amended firmly, "I won't let you down."

"If you are quick," he whispered conspiratorially, "Year Six will start Comestibles and Consumables in about ten minutes." His face wreathed into smiles before he turned away and clicking his fingers in mid-air, he held his arm out for the swooping pygmy owl to land.

Ten minutes, she thought to herself hurriedly, 306B was no problem as long as the staircases were behaving themselves and she strode off to the stairwell.

0.0

Professor Snape arranged a series of tinted glass bottles in an orderly line on his desk with military precision. To his right, a squat, black, cauldron stood empty and directly ahead a fat bellied clear glass jar with a cloth lid held on with a twist of twine. The jar label was annotated simply with the universal symbol for 'female' and held a small brown spider with long spindly legs and a body the size of a pin head centred on a filigree web. In his hand he held a brown paper package, rescued from a dead drop box in Kings Cross station.

He stood and skirted the desk, uncorked a dark bottle and liberally splashed some of the tawny liquid into a waiting tumbler with a flourish. The oily fluid coated the inside of the glass when he swirled it and he cautiously sniffed the rising fumes wondering if consumption of the ancient alcohol would be finally be in celebration, or yet again, commiseration. Resuming his seat, he ran a finger down a neat list marked in anothers hand.

Ingredients deftly assembled themselves in the cauldron and it set it to stirring itself. Testing the mixture with a drop splashed onto a ceramic tile, it split the glaze when it hissed and spat a muted popping noise. The last but one addition to the mix was a fine grey hair. He handled the spiders jar with care, since the deadlier of the species was apt to bite, in a single move drawing the muslin lid away from the neck of the jar and speedily inverting it over the mouth of the cauldron. A smart rap to the jar bottom sent the inhabitant, legs furled, plummeting into the vortex below.

"_Arachnote," _ he drawled, pointing his wand in a circular motion at the swirling liquid. Snape reached for the tumbler and tossed back the drink in one, squinting his eyes again the burn, before setting to opening the package. If the package was another dud, he would simply send the same message as twice before.

'_Testing_.'

Briefly he spun the rectangular parcel between his forefingers, yellowed tape coated it like a Mummys bandages. Tape gave way to brown paper. Paper gave way to a stout cardboard box almost a foot long, but no more than two inches wide. Card revealed cloth. He took a sharp breath, paused and exposed the contents, revealing…hope.

Reverently, he lifted a jointed rod from its resting place, passing its length once across the skin under his nose and finally along the crease of his thin lips. His sensitive skin detected the unseen flaws in the dulled lustre and tasted the brittle, bitter tip, of the blackened core, broken off by the inadvertent attentions of his tongue.

A quill wrote a new message, 'e_xpect me_,' and he dropped the parchment into the cauldrons inky mix. Snape replaced the gift in its box with painfully gentle motions, tucking it safely into his robes against his body. Retrieving his wand he tapped the cauldron three times and offered the tip to the lip of the pot.

A spider with a body now the size of a chickpea clambered onto the rod, its spindly legs arching awkwardly to support itself. Snape tipped the insect ungently out the window.

0.0

Hermione was the first student to arrive outside 306B. Professor McGonagall was reading Dumbledores note by the diminishing light that filtered into the stone corridor from the grass square beyond. Students gathered, beginning to crowd the doorway and she shrank against the brickwork when she heard a distinctive voice followed by raucous laughter.

"Those Mermaids, they're something else man."

"I bet they can hold their breath for like forever."

"Do you think they feel like shark skin? Rough one way and smooth the other."

"I'll give that one on the fifth floor a going over and let you know." Cedric tipped his head back and let out a chortle. He was closer to finding out than his colleagues knew. He had struck an arrangement with the girl in the glass, that in exchange for tomorrows used practice jersey, she would let him hold what was hidden by the golden tresses that she tended so assiduously when he bathed.

The lads around him fell quiet and one nudged him, causing him to peek towards the door where his next class was due. When he spotted Hermione, he strutted over, smiling widely before hiding it behind a frown.

"Can't it wait until tomorrow? Only I don't have any time now." He explained.

"What?" She furrowed her brow, did he seriously think that she was here for him?

"Are you stalking me?" He said with amusement, chucking her under the chin like a child

"No!" She replied hotly. "You assine, self-involved, ignorant...ass!" She finished.

"Hermione," Professor McGonagall cut in. "I see you have met one of your new classmates." She smiled wryly, looking between the antagonists. Hermione gaped at her in horror. "Go along in now dear," she bade her kindly, folding the note from Dumbledore into her voluminous sleeve. "Cedric will join you shortly." Then in a much sharper tone and turning to Cedric she said, "Mr Diggory, I may have a special assignment for you. Miss Granger is the most advanced in her year and would benefit from a little stretching – more so than merely placing her in the year above."

"I'll take every care," he said honestly, exhausted by keeping his eyebrows even with the mention of Hermione and stretching in the same sentence.

"She is to observe in this, her first advanced lesson and you are to ensure she catches up on the theory that we have already covered." He nodded shrewdly, seeing both sense and an opening in her words. "And another thing Mr Diggory, she just might be the brightest Witch of her time – it would not do for her grades to suffer as a result of _other_ distractions."

She grasped his chin firmly in her bony hand. "You have been warned." She said severely.

"Of course Minerva," he agreed. "She is unique indeed." He offered his patent smile, relieved when she smiled thinly back in return. Whilst he had not had the pleasure of drinking from this particular vessel, it seemed that she was not immune to his charms either.

He squared his shoulders and sauntered into class. Minerva McGonagall watched his tight behind all the way to his desk where Hermione sat purposefully, quill posed and still silently seething.

Cedric slipped into the seat beside Hermione, contemplating his good fortune. He laid his wand perpendicular to the desk edge, exactly as Hermione had. Making sure that it was precisely equidistant between them, he sat back, not bothering to pull any books or materials out of his bag.

"I didn't come looking for you," she hissed.

He shrugged easily, leaning in to whisper, "lucky I was here then," and his eyebrows flicked momentarily upwards, inviting a reply.

"Ugh," Hermione pulled away as Professor McGonagall swept past, glancing at the parallel pairing of the wands between the two students.

McGonagall cleared her throat when she reached the front of the class, not that she needed to particularly, she already had the classes attention. Chalk rose up behind her and wrote 'Comestibles' in loopy handwriting on the green board behind her.

"For the benefit of our newest member, Miss Granger," Hermione stared resolutely forwards as every head turned towards her. Cedric stared fixedly at her ear. It felt like he was blowing a thin stream of air at her and she refused to look over and give him the satisfaction of a rise.

"We have already covered the standard operations of summoning food items including liquids. I hope you all enjoyed last weeks refresher practical on increasing and decreasing quantities." Hermione scribbled frantically in the margins of her textbook as the class erupted in laughter and eddies of conversation.

"And have completed your homework on the rules pertaining to what can and cannot be converted and more importantly, eaten safely. Given that you are the in_ this_ class," she emphasised, "you will be required to sample the produce you create, _in this class_." Whispers fell away and there was a general shuffling of bodies.

"A volunteer?" she called.

Surprisingly, Cedric eased back out of his seat and strode confidently to the front of the class, he waved a hand behind him and his wand flew into his fist. Hermione had to slap the flat of her hand on her wand to stop it rattling. "What are you like?" she hissed at it. Tendrils from her wand drummed on the desk like the fingers of a bored hand.

There was a murmur from his classmates and a wolf whistle, Cedric spun and grinning at who he thought the donor might be before continuing on his way. He rolled his head from side to side, loosening his neck.

"Keep doing that Cedders and it will fall off!" A boy in the second row called out.

"That what your Momma told you?" he called back laughing.

The original commenter was pelted with assorted desk objects and Professor McGonagall called the class to order again before smiling grimly at Cedric. "Not waiting until last this time, I see? Very wise. Well, lets see what you can do." She took a step back and waved him forward to the long table before her and he stalked around it, not taking his eyes from the items laid out.

Hermione craned her neck to see the random assortment of pieces, they seemed mundane enough to her and absolutely none of them in their natural form would she consider eating. Amongst other things, a feather, a coiled hair, a cube of resin, a yew needle, a heap of sand, a wooden button, leather woggle, a cherry pit.

Finally he selected the wooden button. The Professor nodded approvingly and turned her back, scribbling on the board while Cedric used magic to crush the button to sawdust on the palm of one hand. He stirred his wand over the pile muttering an incantation and the flecks danced into a fist sized lopsided sphere, from which materialised a pale green apple. He plopped it on to the desk and putting his wand beside it, cupped both hands around it and blew. When he picked it up again it was red and shiny. Cedric rubbed it on his pants leg like a cricket ball and took an oversized bite. Pith and juice ran down the side of his mouth and dripped of his chin as applause broke out.

"Excellent work, Mr Diggory, the button was indeed _Malus_." She gripped his wrist harshly, "and you were quite correct allowing it to _ripen _first," she emphasised meaningfully before letting him go. "You may return to your seat." Professor McGonagall sent him packing.

"Next," she called sharply as the class stirred in response.

"You will _each_ take a turn." She confirmed.

Cedric rolled his shoulders when he got back to the desk and wordlessly slumped beside Hermione. He wiped his sticky chin with the back of his hand and licked off the juice with long passes of his tongue. When he plunged his tongue into the dip made by his thumb and forefinger, Hermione shook her head and looked away. She wanted to fidget, but made herself still perfectly still, staring at the words listed on the board.

Particle size

Spark of life

The list went on

"Why does size matter?" she queried, then mentally face-palmed herself

Cedric surprised her for once, by not taking the bait and ran a hand through his hair before answering her question with one of his own. "Hmm, what happens to magic when the wielder passes?"

Hermione had an instants vivid recollection of Olivanders somewhat macabre collection of spent wands on display in the back workshop, the magical equivalent of a churchyard full of etched headstones. Each one was different in its way, yet ultimately the same, a legacy of rich information on the time in which its wielder had lived and perhaps something of how they had died.

Hermione swallowed awkwardly, "reversion," she stated.

The girl at the front of the class was choking, purple in the face type choking and clawing at her neck. Professor McGonagall looked on unconcerned while the chalk wrote 'incomplete neutralisation of alkaloids,' before sighing and tipping a small bottle of a murky looking compound down the girls throat.

Cedric nodded approvingly, "exactly so."

"Hospital wing now," McGonagalls voice called, helping the girl at the front of the class to the fireplace. "You will miss a week while you get over the hallucinations," she patted her arm not unkindly. "Professor Dumbledores group will expect you on your return." A shrill scream split the air which was pre-emptively cut off by a shower of sparks and a sudden silence indicated that the afflicted had departed.

"So where is everyone else?" Hissed Hermione to distract herself from her new classmates fate. She had never seen McGonagall behave in quite such an unfeeling manner and it didn't fit with the study methods she was comfortable with at all. With the possible exception of Professor Snape and he needed a category all by himself. There was a random smattering of houses among the students, more Gryffindor than any of the others, but perhaps that was to be expected since Transfiguration seemed to be a particular skill of her house.

"Everyone else?" Cedric teased dryly, "were you looking for anyone in particular? Someone catch your eye _other_ than me?"

"No, the rest of the sixth formers, the rest of the class?" Hermione bit her tongue in irritation, there were including herself, only twelve students. Eleven, she corrected herself.

"We were streamed at the end of last year," said Cedric pursing his lips. "Ducks, geese and us"

"You being…"

Cedric stretched expansively, one hand resting against his stomach, drawing her eye. "_Us," _he corrected, "being Herons."

Hermione gritted her teeth at how obtuse he was being, "and Herons are?"

Cedric said nothing, but raised an enigmatic eyebrow and curled the fingers of his hand over so that he could inspect his nails, his Mona Lisa smile the unspoken punch line to some sort of private joke.

Hermione swallowed hard. For all his laid back idiocy, Cedric was no slouch in the brains department. The soles of her feet broke out in a cold sweat and she slipped off her shoes to rub them together. Dumbledore had sent her to join a class two years ahead of her year group, not only that, but two years ahead and the top stream. She gulped in air and held on to the desk edge with a death grip. It was quite an honour, but also a bit like being invited to be first to present oneself at a snake pit.

A second classmate went the way of the Floo before the class ended. Professor McGonagall was unapologetic.

"You are all aware of my expectations for my students at this level," she stated. "The world beyond these doors will not forgive poor preparation or shoddy workmanship." She set homework, a great deal of homework, including resources available only in her own study.

Cedric glanced at his wristwatch, a domed dial set into a thick brown leather wristband. His tone was the most serious she could ever remember him being, "we need to synchronise our timetables if you are to have any chance of keeping up."

Hermione bristled, "I am not afraid of hard work."

"I'm not saying you are," he said mildly, weaving his wand between long fingers of one hand like a magician with a penny. At every dip of the tip of his wand, a vine leaf on her wand rose in mute entreaty.

"I am, however, a very busy man, what with prefecting and all." He gave her a lopsided smile that Hermione wanted to smack clean off his face. She schooled her face into an impassive mask. "Leave your timetable in the study carrel," she snarled, "and I'll do the same."

Cedric nodded sagely as if it had been his idea, "still on for after the match? You have free study then right?"

"How many of you have native wood wands?" The Professor called the pair from their private reverie. Eight raised their hands, including Cedric and Hermione.

"And of you with your hands up, how many are hard woods?" Several girls dropped their hands and after some good-natured banter, a number of the boys also. Three remained, including Cedric. Hermione lowered her hand, pretty certain that the vine was not considered to be in that category.

"You three, remain behind please." Hermione rose to leave and was frozen in her place by the Professors stern tone.

"You too, Hermione." Hermione lowered herself reluctantly back to her seat as her new peers filed past her, staring curiously at her as they passed.

"We will cover tandem working in this class this year," explained the Professor. "You need to be paired with a student who will best match you and your wands capacity and ability,"

Hermione shifted uneasily and snuck a glance at the other two students, one boy, one girl. The boy from the train, the girl someone she didn't know.

"Whilst I have my suspicions," McGonagall began again, looking pointedly at Cedric, "it is best to be certain in these things." She waved the girl forward.

"Put your wand next Hermiones please and…" she didn't get to finish her sentence. The girls wand rolled swiftly backwards as if repelled and the girl caught it as it tipped off the edge of the desk.

"Not Yew then," the Professor allowed herself a small smile at her own joke, "you may go."

"What exactly are we expecting..?" Hermione started and was silenced by the Professor raising one finger.

"Same again please," the Professor waved at the boy. He placed his wand parallel to Hermiones and waited. Hermione studied him surreptitiously, he was tall and blond, one of Cedrics inner circle and the instigator of the bawdy comment from earlier. She would have been fine with him, if it hadn't been for their impromptu meeting on the train, but found as a result, that she could not meet his interested gaze.

She could feel Cedric tense beside her when the boy smiled encouragingly at her. She stared down at the two wands as if she knew what the hell she was looking for. Slowly, as nothing came to pass on the desk, Cedric relaxed by inches, neck, shoulders and then drummed his fingers as if impatient. The Professor snorted, "hmmm, you too may go," she dismissed the lad. "Not Lime, pity..."

Hermione huffed, it felt like being last to be picked for the netball team.

Cedric cleared his throat, waited until his cohort had left the room and then without prompting, laid his wand back where it had been before he had left to show off at the front of the class. Hermione watched him hold his breath and when again, nothing happened, followed his palms steady movement on his thighs. She shifted in her seat and her socked foot accidentally knocked into his ankle. His amused stare called the blush to her cheeks and he knocked back into her shoulder in jest a tad too hard and had to clutch at her to stop her from tipping over. His easy laugh broke the tension.

"Sorry," he murmured, trying to keep a straight face and failing miserably. She stared furiously at his profile. On the desk a vine leaf rose from where it had lain flat against the wand wood and tentatively flexed towards Cedrics wand as if scenting the air.

Cedric snatched up his wand and tucked it behind his back, tilting his head at McGonagall. She gave him a slow nod. "Every care," she reminded him.

Hermione watched the odd exchange before folding her arms across her chest. "Can someone explain.." she began, but was cut off by McGonagalls reponse.

"It would appear that Cedric will stand as your mentor," the Professor stepped away. Hermione watched Cedrics eyes dance.

"For now," finished the Professor. Cedric gave her a tight smile in reply.

"Make sure she can successfully link with you before next session," McGonagall demanded of Cedric.

Cedric nodded sagely before whispering too close to Hermiones ear for her comfort, "it'll be like having a puppy." The thought made him suddenly nostalgic for home, watching otter pups play on the riverbank and be astonished at how protective the elders were. "_Kit,_" he goaded.

Hermione ignored him and shovelled her gear back into her bag, following Cedric out of the classroom. She shut the classroom door behind her and stood leaning against it for a moment, waiting for him to pass out of sight. Cedric looked back towards the classroom as he turned the corner of the quad, just in time to see her disappear into thin air. He nodded once, turning the dome of his watch a quarter turn anticlockwise.

0.0

Hermione gasped awake in the silence of the dormitory, gripping her wand so tight that her knuckles were white. She ran her closed hand across her stomach and for an instant was surprised to find it dry. Opening her fist, she flexed her stiff fingers and ran the back of her wrist across the sheen on her forehead, then sighed and shifted her shoulders against the sheets, staring at the tented canopy above her head. If this was anything like what Harry experienced, he had her fullest sympathies. And when she caught up with Cedric, she was going to seriously maim him. Sleep escaped her for the longest time, even after she had worked out how he had done what he had done. Eventually she thumped the pillow in disgust and got up again.

She rummaged in her bag to pull out the partially finished ironwood egg and dug out the half sized woodworking tools in their little case from the bottom of her trunk. Olivander had gifted her the set, saying only that they were a curiosity he had discovered on his travels and worthless since their size was fit only for a child, or a womans smaller hands. Not for the first time she curiously thumbed the two incised sigils, limned in black on the case – a double headed eagle, wings outstretched and an open hand, palm uppermost with a lightening strike where the wrist would be.

Olivander had been insistent that no magic be used in the eggs creation, they were simply he explained, the best way for an apprentice to hone a most important element of their craft. She chose however, to assume that using her wands physical properties would be acceptable and wondered if he would be able to tell.

The bottom half of the egg had been roughed out and she had already smoothed one side so that the tool marks were no longer evident. Patiently, she set to shaping the top half of the egg. Her wand rolled against the bare skin of her ankle, where her pajama bottoms rode up. Hermione picked it up thoughtfully and stroked the pad of her thumb against the ridged mid rib of a leaf, noting how the thickness of the leaf fell away towards the edge like a flint. She raised her eyebrows in thought and set the wand leaf to the egg in the manner of an old fashioned potato peeler, holding the leaf edge against the wood with her thumb and turning the egg with her other hand. A perfect curl of wood shavings, micrometres thin, twisted into her lap.

It was absorbing work when combined with practising foretelling, visualising the end result, despite the odd flash of something else darker, for she was nothing if not an adept multitasker. The process had an odd side effect of sharpening the vine leaves further, more than once she nicked the fingers holding the egg on the newly minted edges and was forced to delay, sucking the wound until it sealed itself. Traces of blood left on the vine leaves showed the complicated architecture of the leaf veins picked out for an instant in a darker hue, before disappearing completely. With every drop, the vine grew imperceptibly thicker.

Dawns early light showed Hermiones hand clutching a perfect ovoid, flawless in its symmetry and with the natural sheen of heart wood polished to within an inch of its life. The curl of a smile on her lips was interrupted by her thumb, sucked clean of her own inimitable flavour, and enhanced with the knowledge that Cedric had had a taste of his own medicine.

0.0

Breakfast passed in a blur of conversation about the upcoming practice match this afternoon. Half of the commentators wanted it to be an exhibition game, the other half wanted a win at any cost. Hermione immersed herself in a book badly translated from the original Bavarian which featured tools such as hers, albeit modified for a different task. She parked the conundrum, leaving the boys to their debate and readied herself for the walk to her first class.

There was something about being followed that made her uneasy. That it was _him_, just made it worse. Cedric tapped her left shoulder, then stepped across behind her to appear on her right, grinning expectantly. His feet sank, squishing in the damp grass so that he could keep pace beside her on the narrow path. She gritted a small smile, so like a boy.

"Tomas taught me a new word," he said proudly.

Then remembered why she was supposed to be angry with him. She bashed him with the first thing to hand, her bag, catching him across the stomach before he could defend himself. He laughed after the initial surprise, batting the following swipes away easily, cycling himself backwards when she pressed her attack.

"You complete arse, what the hell was that?" she spat, caught out by him catching the bag and tugging it out of her hands.

"Cedric," she began.

"Pot, kettle, Hermione," he crooned, waggling the bag enticingly and veering off the beaten track, jogging backwards. "McGonagall said to link, remember?"

Hermione stumbled as her feet caught the grass verge. Cedric made no move to break her fall and in the event, she cursed and righted herself.

"I doubt she meant while it like that," she deadpanned, feinting a run at which he jinked away. Exasperation riddled her tone, "my bag?"

Slyly, he moved to uncinch the bag clasp. Malfoy had done worse in his time and she was more than over being embarrassed by tampons in her own bag. Then again the completed ironwood egg was in her bag, all wrapped up and ready to go back to Olivander and very much something that she did _not_ want to share with her aggravating colleague.

She curled her nails into her palms. She would have Ron on the ground by now, begging for mercy and couldn't quite work out what was stopping her treating Cedric in the same way. He just seemed a little more edgy, dangerous and unpredictable. And he better kept himself just out of reach. Actually, she and Ron hadn't tussled for a while, ever since an insidious inkling that he might be letting her dominate him and there was nothing so belittling, in her book, as being allowed to win.

"Well," he shrugged non commitally. "A more advanced version than she suggested, but…"

He backed up another step. Hermione followed unwilling, "but?"

"It never hurts to get…a head," he coughed and gesticulated with her bag. "Taste is a tricky thing to broadcast, leave alone touch as well," he said with a trace of approval, "but Tomas says to tell you, '_Delicia,_' and I have to say that I agree. I mean, he doesn't know it _was_ you…?"

Her stony face denied the question an answer and she grabbed again for her possessions, but he led her further astray. She was so cross by now that she had lost track of the direction they were taking, they had cut across the lawns and were almost at the covered bridge. The main building was way out of sight. His heel clopped onto the wooden structure and he took a second step back so that he was framed in the open maw of the covered walkway, arm still outstretched, bag in hand. Hades offering the pomegranate.

"I need my bag"

"Come get it," he dropped the bag, holding only the strap looped invitingly over just one finger and swung it lazily from one side to the other.

She stepped closer and he held his ground, she waited for him to draw away again, trapping her in this ridiculous game of chase me, but now they were alone, out of sight, the urge seemed to have passed.

She tried a different tack to distract him, just in case and a little to satisfy her own curiosity at how he saw himself in these games of thrones. She wondered if she was the first he had played nocturnal mind games with and discarded the need to be that very thing. The unassailable position of being first for him, in something. "You know the girls talk about you all the time."

"I know."

Hermiones eyebrows lifted, "you know what they say about you?" Her fingers closed around the bag strap and she dragged it off his finger, hefting it back over her shoulder. She caught at his hand before it dropped to his side and he allowed her thumb to stray over the back of his hand

"Some. Want to enlighten me?" He was watching her thumb like cats watch mice.

"That your hair is as soft as owl feathers." She said putting on a dreamy tone.

Cedric snorted and she laughed openly with him in spite of her previous annoyance.

"Amongst other things."

"But that's the one you mention first? You want to find out?" He offered her a benign smile and changed the balance of his weight on his feet, ducking his head and turning it so he could still see her.

The merriment faded from her face as he took her hand and placed her fingers at the hairline on his forehead, blinking rapidly at the newness of her touch. He half expected that she would push him away and make a break for it, but her fingers slid further under his hair, nails gliding against his scalp before they angled upwards, tugging minutely before they separated from him completely.

His eyebrows lifted and eyes widened, lips parting at the gentle teasing sensation of her hand drawing through and out of his hair. A secret smile appeared as other parts of his anatomy became interested in what was going on and he half closed his eyes in contentment. One touch was all it took to make him want.

"You like that," she murmured, mapping the changes in his face. A chill slid across his shoulders and down his back as her expression became almost calculating. "They said that you did."

He trapped her hand next to his face, leaning into her palm, "and what else did they say?"

"That you're going after the Third tier in the Forest tonight." She blurted, blindsiding him with a new topic to hide her shock at her hand actually cupping his cheek. It was strangely more intimate that rubbing liniment on his ribs had been and if the feeling running relay down her arm was anything to go by, dancing was going to be pure hell.

He let her hand drop, grinning, backed up and leaned nonchalantly against an upright. "Nobody told you that," he shook his head and crossed his arms over his chest. "Nobody told you that, because everyone knows nobody talks about it. Are you going to be there?" He was almost unnerved that she might be."

"The whole thing is illegal," she said angrily, angry that she was right and angry that she was afraid for someone apparently too stupid to value his own hide. "There are no rules in the Third tier, It's worse than Muggle Cage fighting, you could get killed."

He opened his eyes wide in mock surprise. "You're worried for me? That's kind of sweet," he teased. "Are you going to tell on me? Pop down to Professor Snapes study for a cup of tea and a heart to heart?" He added unkindly, "While you are there, get him to teach you how to shield and narrow your wavelength."

"People could get hurt, the Professors should know!"

Cedric laughed out loud, resting his head back against the timber structure, "who do you think," he said softly, "is refereeing?" He shrugged easily at her horrified face.

"It's just a learning curve. I'm a good student." A moments silence, before he continued.

"Did Weasley tell you?" He nodded knowingly, there was no way she should have been that good as a Fourth year if it was coming from Divination, "did you tell him to be careful too?" He pushed off the upright he had been leaning on. Before he had even taken a step in her direction, she whirled and ran.

Behind her Cedric turned and leaned on the balustrade, looking out over the lake in the distance. Every third second or so he kicked sharply at the uprights with the toes of his shoes, wondering why he cared that she cared. In the distance, a broad, fishy tail rose lazily, spilling prismed droplets and beckoning like a finger.

A/N: Sigh, there should be more turps in here, but playing with Snape just makes it bigger.

Malus is the family name for apple trees. In case you didn't know, Lime wood is native to Britain and used to make Welsh Love spoons, because it is both soft and hard. You know what I mean.

Pot, Kettle is a reference to the saying 'the pot calling the kettle black,' Wiki explains it better than I can. While you are there, check out Hades and the pomegranate from mythology.

If you have questions, I am not on Facebook or Twitter, but do occasionally lurk on ADF, I will answer a PM on FF if you are too shy to put it in a review and it will not spoiler the story. There will be a teaser on the Sneak Peek CF on Monday.

Thank you for reading.


	6. Chapter 6

A/N JK Rowling made Hermione a badass. I gave Draco a reason to be afraid, very afraid.

Hermione went through the motions of watching the players on the pitch with a distracted air, she had the History of Magic text open on her lap and her attention flicked between the players zooming about, the Goblin wars and the timetable that she was trying to create as a cube in four dimensions. For the third time, she created the keystone and set it spinning.

"Hit it, Ron!" Ginny screamed.

Hermione added Earth Sciences.

"Pull right, Right!" Ginny shrieked. "You idiot," she yelled, "your other right."

Hermione clicked in Herbology, Divination, Potions, Physics and looked up at the scoreboard. Gryffindor was down ten points and a bludger was chasing Ron round and round his own goalpost. The referees whistle peeped and Flitwick tractor beamed the errant equipment into an iron bound chest and released a replacement. Cedric zoomed past the stand and Hermione looked away from how deliciously tousled the wind was making his hair.

Hermione tried to give Ginny her full attention, but she was finding herself tighter wound than usual on this fine day. In addition, the team formation most catching her eye was black and gold against the green of the pitch, rather than her usual burgundy. And she had to get the timetable done before meeting with Cedric or she just knew he would give her shit for it.

She added Natural World, Care of Magical Creatures, Runes, then looked up at where Cedrics trajectory might have taken him. Ginny nudged her and winked as the arc of his travel peaked and he tore into a Vronski feint, with Harry hot on his tail.

Hermione suddenly stood and shouted at the top of her voice, "Come on, Harry!" She settled in her seat again, shrugging her shoulders at Ginnys expression. "What?" Ginny gave her the Pfft face, Hermione traded her the bitch brow and added Charms and Arithmancy and the one free period that slotted into the space left. The keystone was no longer visible. Now, for the advanced classes.

Ginny fiddled with her wand and a tinny accordion fought with the noise of the wind squeezing through the baffles.

"What are you doing?" Hermione stared at her friend flicking her hair around and waving her arms about.

"Practising for the Gala, wanna try?"

"Come on," she wheedled. "It's fun, and they are bound to play it in the free dancing."

"I have to get this finished," Occlumency, Astral Physics, Hexes, Ciphers, Transfiguration, Arboreal Herbology, Dangerous Creatures Husbandry slotted in between and on top of existing classes, distorting the cube in to what looked like a fat sphere with corners, about to explode.

Ginny started again, sweeping alternate hands in an exaggerated manner through her hair, leaning towards Hermione and jogging her to encourage her to join in. Hermione rolled her eyes and thought perhaps it wouldn't hurt to have a distraction from watching how the wind swept Cedrics hair back and away from his broad forehead, emphasising his distinctive cheekbones and dry washed her face with both her palms.

"Aaargh. Ok," she stated firmly, letting herself get infected by the younger girls enthusiasm. "Go again."

Hermione copied Ginnys pose and subsequent movements, holding first one and then the other arm straight out in front of her, before fanning her face with both hands. "This is stupid," she said grinning idiotically at the inane actions and laughing when Luna stood and joined in, moving with a lot more embellishment.

"Once more," Ginny said.

"Then what?"

"Then we need to stand up for the next bit." She stood and demonstrated with exaggerated actions.

Harry ploughed a furrow with one foot on the pitch.

0.0

Cedric pulled up briefly to kill the dive and skimmed the ground, looking around behind him to see what had happened to Harry. His arch rival was knee deep in turf and using his broomstick to pull himself out of it. A flash of gold caught his eye, he pulled the broomstick equivalent of a handbrake skid and scanned the pitch for the snitch. Another flash drew his eye to the stands.

There was almost a full count of supporters in the Towers, bundled up against the cold. Since the game was not a league game, the only Professor in attendance was the referee, even Sprouty had bailed, which might have explained the shenanigans going on in the Gryffindor Tower. He picked out Luna and Ginny standing in formation, shaking their booty in an unmistakeable series of movements to anyone who watched Muggle soccer and a third girl, rising and doing the arm movements.

The half time whistle went and his team mates crowded around him to get tactics for the second half.

"We're ahead, we need to keep them off balance." Cedric nodded sternly. "Potters off his game. What's the deal? Anyone know? Anything we can use?" He stuffed an orange quarter sideways against his mouth guard and hollowed his cheeks, pulling noisily at the succulent flesh to extract the juice.

Tomas looked over his shoulder at the stands and threw his head back to laugh sharply. He pushed a few of his team mates out the way so that Cedric had a clear view. "How do you say it? Let the dog see the rabbit."

Upwards of a dozen girls now stood in formation, hats, gloves and coats discarded, long hair being flicked and flying in the breeze. In the front row, three girls, Luna, Ginny and a third that captured Cedrics attention. Hermione Granger pouting and swivelling her hips, he watched her press first one palm and then the other in a suggestive path down her body from breastbone to pelvis.

"Someone tell me if Potter is watching us or them," said Tomas, "I have an idea."

Cedrics thighs clenched painfully against the broomstick crossbar and the orange peel toppled silently to the ground. "Shit," he moaned, "I need a bigger box."

0.0

It didn't help that Ginny was killing herself laughing thought Hermione, she was doing the very best she could. She had her eyes closed in concentration to combat the fact that _this_ kind of dancing was somewhat an unnatural state for anyone born North of the Equator, but the perfectionist in her demanded that every motion be precise. She put more flick in the face fanning and extra effort into the double hip thrust to prove to herself that she could do it. A ragged chorus of male voices had joined the girls and were singing along, but most of the noise was coming from in front of them now rather than behind her in the Tower, which was odd because from memory, they had the front row seats. It was no good, her ears were burning and she opened her eyes to upbraid Ginny and whoever else it was for taking the piss.

Most singers were stumbling through the original version, but Hermione seemed to be strangely attuned to the one crooning the English translation. She told herself she should have walked the minute she saw that the floating semi-circle of clearly amused players were Hufflepuffs, as it was, when she caught the enigmatic smile of a familiar face, her hands couldn't decide whether to cover her eyes or her mouth.

Hermione made a snap decision and told herself it was for the good of the House game. Harry was going to have a fit if he caught Ginny being leered at by the opposition. She made a grab for her coat, book and timetable and bundled Ginny out of the Tower in front of her.

"We're leaving," she said hurriedly, "sod the second half."

Cedrics voice rang in her ears all the way down the rickety wooden steps.

'_If I catch you.'_

0.0

They won, she consoled herself, she would have to pull a fast one with the time turner to fit in the celebrations and her class with Firenze, but she could do it if he hurried the hell up. There was a charabanc leaving for Hogsmeade in twenty minutes with her name on it. Her friends were all over the mysterious arrival of the carriage and its flying horses and the strange arrival in the lake and she was stuck here, waiting for him.

He was late. Was she early? It didn't matter, he wasn't here anyway. She paced the stone hallway to stop herself thinking about actually dancing with him because just the thought of it was freaking her out. What on earth had made her agree to this ridiculousness? Eventually she slowed and leant against the stone balcony, staring into the grass square of the quadrant below. Seeds from a dandelion clock whirled and rose on the plumes of trapped air, only to spin and fall again. She set their movements to music with a brief flick of her wand, resting it on the balustrade and closed her eyes as the opening bars of the Sleeping Beauty waltz drifted dreamily along the corridor.

Raising her arms to an imaginary partner, she allowed herself to fall into the musics embrace. Her hips swayed waiting for the correct beat before she stepped to match it on tiptoes, rising and falling like the tiny motes trapped in the stagnant air. Her mother and father both loved to ballroom dance and this was not so very different. The whisper of leather on stone caught her attention and she paused, eyes still closed to gesture him forward, unwilling to break her sense of wellbeing with actually clapping eyes on him.

She had to adjust the hand that would rest on his shoulder upwards a little and frowned at the coolness of the fingers that cupped her own and began to lead her effortlessly where she had left off. Every movement was precisely how it should be, every dip perfect, every rise mirrored her own, compensating when she slowed as it dawned on her that something felt off. The crisp click of dress shoes stuttering to a halt gave her pause – she refused to be a spectator sport for anyone – and when a velvet voice that did not belong to her dance partner said curiously, "mind if I cut in? She opened her eyes to stare up in surprise into the impassive eyes of Professor Snape.

"Professor?" she asked aghast.

Snape bent stiffly over her hand, slid his gaze disparaging over Cedric before turning abruptly and stalking away.

"Very nice," said Cedric, every word bathed in innuendo.

"You're late," she said defensively, although she was not sure what for.

"You're not dressed," he quipped back. She glared at him as he closed the distance between them, all dressed up in a penguin suit and bow tie just that little bit crooked to show that it was a real one, properly tied. She tucked her hands up the sleeves of her oversized top that fell off one shoulder, stolen from Rons closet. He stared at his feet, "I 'm sorry, I didn't realise you and Professor Snape had a prior _appointment_..." he tailed off smirking and shrugged.

"What?" She spluttered. "We don't, I don't, there's nothing...that's...ugh...are you insane?" she finished exasperated at herself for her incoherency. "He'd be fired.." she shut her mouth sharply, mentally slapping a hand across it and lobbing her verbal spade into the pit it was digging.

"Severus and Hermione, hmmmmm…tree," he hummed, meticulously placing his wand parallel to hers on the balustrade

She fisted her hands and growled, "there's nothing going on, he hates me."

"Doesn't look like it," he said gleefully teasing as he took her hand and moved into position. "Shall we?" he whispered, theatrically looking around to see if anyone was watching. The music was louder as if amplified by the extra wand and he trailed warm fingers up her arm before settling his palm on her shoulder, his feather light touch burning fiercely through her cotton top.

Between her annoyance and trying to keep a safe distance between his body and hers, the mortifying realisation dawned that although she had danced with her Father, the footwork she knew best was from dancing with her Mother, so she had a habit of falling into the mans role. Their feet repeatedly tangled as she tried to forecast how he moved without actually looking at him.

His shoulder flexed pleasingly under her hand and for a brief moment she pictured it bare and tattooed with the half moons that her nails would make. Without thinking her hand drifted, fingers curling upwards through the short hairs on the nape of his neck and he grunted softly in surprise, losing count and tripping so badly that they both crashed to the ground.

He twisted sharply so that his back bore the brunt of their combined weight hitting the flagstones before breaking into infectious giggles that she echoed in spite of herself.

"You're going to ruin me for Quidditch," he wheezed, his voice suffocated as he took in the sight of her flushed and sprawled above him. He shifted nervously and her hips slipped more firmly between his legs as she pressed her palms to his chest to steady herself. He panted out a breath and stayed very, very still.

"You're supposed to be leading," she thumped him with the flat of her hand, more annoyed at herself for _not_ being annoyed by him being anything less than perfect. This was supposed to be what practice was about after all. She pushed off his chest and wriggled back, slipping her knees either side of his hips to be more comfortable. Something in his pocket was poking her in the intimates in an altogether too pleasurable manner. She tipped her head back to loosen her neck and scowling at the damp feeling on the back of her collar, she twisted her hands into her hair and held it on top of her head to give the cool air access.

She stared down at him for a moment, taking in his hooded eyes and the tip of his tongue flicking the corner of his mouth before he ran lazy fingers up her thighs as he pulled himself into a sitting position. Even dancing they had never been this close. He smelt of warm soap and crisp starch and something decadent like Amaretto that made her mouth flood with saliva.

Hunching over her slightly he chided, "you're supposed to be letting me." His lips curved in an inviting smile. It would take no more than an instants indiscretion to know how they felt against her own. She dropped her hair and grasped his shoulders.

At the end of the corridor Crookshanks earthed himself against the bottom of a lead down pipe. The resulting electricity converted an egret orchid, taken root in the gutter, into a white flapping thing he watched with narrowed eyes as it tried desperately to stay aloft on its maiden flight.

Behind him Hermione used Cedrics unwilling frame to lever herself out of his lap, he clung briefly to her hips to steady her before letting his hands drop away, resting a forearm on a raised knee. He chewed thoughtfully on the inside of his cheek at how much he disliked letting her go.

"It's not working," she said analysing. "We need to be closer."

He looked down for a moment, mourning the decision to go commando in the interests of speed. Plucking at the front of his pants in fruitless effort to make more space, he also wondered how the hell he was going to keep that to himself if they got any closer. Perhaps it was time for introductions.

He scrambled to his feet and walked purposefully towards her. She put her hands on her hips to make herself stand her ground, irritated by the way him being dressed up made her think of something gift wrapped and begging to be undone so that the thing concealed inside the pretty package could be enjoyed at leisure.

He studied her frame before he took her left hand behind his neck, his right on her hip instead of high on her back and stepped deliberately so that he knocked her feet apart with his toe and put his foot in the gap. She made a soft noise in the back of her throat when he grasped her free hand, glancing sharply at his face.

"And I don't trust you," she said icily.

"Smart girl," her muttered to himself and to her, "I won't let you fall again, I promise." His eyes searched her face and honesty rang in his tone, but in her head the word _liar_ lit a torch and ran through her brain. He would do worse than let her fall she decided, he would let her plummet in flames and use the smoke to signal her successor he was free.

"You trusted Snape," he offered.

"That was different!" she retorted.

"Because it was Snape or because you had your eyes shut?" he goaded.

"Lets find out, shall we," she said sweet with sarcasm and shut her eyes before she could change her mind.

He could steal a kiss now, he thought, he had done it before with someone else in different circumstances. Some strange morality stopped him though, he wanted, no needed it to be freely given. Like the nudge with the socked foot in Transfiguration class that had rocked him on his heels. He craved it. He told himself there would be more sport in her reaction if she saw it coming or even better initiated it.

He pressed himself gently to the length of her and was rewarded by the sight of her teeth grounded in her bottom lip, waiting almost a beat too long before stepping into the first moves of the dance again. She swayed in his arms, guided by his hips, and sighing, forced herself to relax into his warmth, ignoring for a moment the correct posture that the strict form required to concentrate on her footwork just to prove him wrong. Or at least that's what she told herself.

She made tiny noises that gave him goosebumps every time he stepped forward and his thigh bumped her gently at the apex of her legs. Noises that belonged under bedclothes or in dark corners, as long as they belonged to him. He wanted his name on them or perhaps in them. He rested his head heavily against the crook of her neck and fought the urge to plant his lips where her heart beat under the skin.

They circled without incident eight times, her world shrank to the music, his heart beat and his voice whispering 1-2-3, 2-2-3, before the music drained away, magic spent over time. Even when silence fell he refused to let her go.

"Keep your eyes closed," he murmured. "I want to give you something for helping me." She stiffened as he turned her so her back was to his front, his left hand slid smoothly over her belly and the selvedge of his zipper teased parts of him that were very interested in keeping her in full contact with the rest of him. His breath was heavy in her ear.

"The library..." she gritted out

"You can still have the library," he said. "This is different, change is coming and I would not have you defenceless by default. Call your wand."

He let his lips drift over her cotton top as she raised her right hand and hoped equally that she would and wouldn't feel it.

"_Accio wand,_" although she caught it clumsily, her voice was absolutely steady. This was magic, this was new and new was important and not feelings and shivers she couldn't control. Magic did her bidding, unlike her traitorous body.

With his fingertips and thumb he supported her right wrist and rested his chin on her shoulder. His words were breathlessly quiet, but she let them sear into her brain, her acquisitive mind a hungry snapping thing starving for knowledge that was bigger and better and more.

"Use me like you will in class. Take only what you need. Focus on your happiest memory. Let me move your hand, I'll know when you are ready. Say the words I tell you, exactly as I say them."

She pictured her home, parents, Harry. She felt herself smile when she thought of Ron, _Pillock_ she thought fondly. Cedric squeezed her closer, "almost," he breathed feeling the energy potential in her slight frame fluctuating. He swayed her slightly, allowed his hips to brush against her behind.

She took in a deep breath and as he whispered, she whispered after him, "_expecto patronem." _He flicked her wrist briskly and a thin stream of electric blue light sped from her wand tip, coiling and furling into the familiar shape of an otter. He barely felt the tug of her drawing on him as a reservoir at all.

He let go and stepped back when a second, heavier built male appeared behind the first and brushed noses with it. That shouldn't have happened. He had never been able to call his own patronus without his wand before – she must be doing it, constructive interference in the morphic waves or something, heaven only knows what residual scoring that would leave on her wand core. Nothing bad he hoped, making a mental note to look it up when he next found himself in the library – when _they_ next found themselves there. Someone was coming. He walked backwards away from her still feeling the pull and softly called for his wand. When he was halfway to the stairwell he called out, "Hermione, open your eyes."

Her surprise snapped the bond. Hermione was stunned by the glowing creature, no _creatures_ she thought to herself. She knew what was coming as soon as the words were out of her mouth, but not the form it would take. And she had only once seen an article that mentioned a doppelganger. Except it wasn't exactly an exact duplicate, it was bigger with blunter features.

"Cedric, there are two...?" her voice trailed off and she spun to face the empty corridor, then back to the fading apparitions. The male playfully butted the female under the chin. She bit him behind his ear and they tussled, creating a blurry yin and yang in electric and midnight blue.

The first she knew that she was no longer alone, was when the image of a pale bear on all fours appeared with an enormous fish carried sideways in its mouth. Both otters stood up on their haunches in front of her, but she lost her concentration when it dropped the apparition of the fish at her feet, the otters faded to nothing, followed by the bear and its strange gift.

At the end of the corridor, one of the boys from the ships rail stood uncertainly, side on as if prepared for a duel. Hermione put her hands on her hips, squinting to see his features clearly.

"Krum?"

"Beautivul," his voice was low and guttural. A lot of saliva at the back of the throat seemed to be involved in producing the sound.

"Viktor Krum?"

"May ask," he said, approaching, "vor dance?" His voice was smoother closer, but missing vital pronouns, not to mention consonants. Hermione shifted uncomfortably at the thought of someone watching her and Cedric dancing or it could have been the way the growly bit of his voice tickled her back, all the way down her spine.

Hermione shook her head, "I'm meeting some friends." She mimed drinking. "Butterbeer," she said slowly and clearly, wondering how long it would take to master Hungarian. She tried to roll her tongue lengthwise and width wise, just to see if she could. Whatever it took, it would be faster with access to a personal coach. He had the rugged features of someone who spends a great deal of time outside in all weathers and the prettiest eyes. She conjured the inside of a pub, the long bar and round tables packed with students.

He shook his head, waving his hand through her picture. "I ask," he repeated, undeterred and sinking to one knee and offering her his hand, "vor dance," conjuring smoky figures, from the fragments of her creation, whirling under a giant lit chandelier. Hermione studied his wand with interest, it was thicker than an English wand, darker and bent at thirty degrees a third of the way up the shaft. A genuine Gregorovitch. She wondered if he would let her hold it.

"Ohhh," she raised her chin in understanding and graced him with a small smile. A dance for an encounter with a Gregorovitch, she weighed the options. Olivander had said that he didn't have one in his extensive archive on display and didn't like to press him on the contents of the safe.

She allowed the last vestiges of hope, that Ron would ask her to the dance, blow away like the dandelion clock. This strange boy had known her all of three seconds and knew she was a girl, it had taken Ron three years and she still wasn't sure what he thought.

"Thank you, yes." She gave him a smile with teeth and meant it. "That would be lovely."

"Viktor," Viktor pointed to himself.

"Viktor," she confirmed, then pointed to herself. "Hermione."

Ten minutes later she sighed and patted him on the hand. Close enough….and let him follow her to the main stairwell where Ron and Harry were already waiting.

0.0

Cedric stopped off in an empty classroom on his way back to the common room. Red painted nails pushed the door open a few minutes later, wide enough to admit Cho.

"I like it," she said appreciatively, gesturing to his tux. "Is all this for me?" She asked saccharine sweet, exaggerating the sway in her hips as she made her way over to him. He grinned at the show and wet his lips, pulled the bowtie loose with one hand and considered making it a blindfold. She fiddled with his lapels stroking the silky fabric with her fingers and running the back of her thumbs down the material of his shirt, pressing hard enough for him to feel it in his groin. He bent to offer her his lips, but his head turned inexplicably at the last moment and she landed a chaste kiss on his cheek.

"No," he said shortly, unzipping his pants, "but this is."

Cho dropped her hands to his waistband. Stung at his tone she pulled him sharply towards her, running her tongue over her teeth.

"I want you to do something for me," she purred, waiting until she had his full attention. "About the Gala," she continued, counting the tick of the teeth in the zipper.

"What about the Gala," asked Cedric, holding his breath as hers washed over him rising to the occasion.

"Ask me," she said, running both hands around to squeeze his butt cruelly. She hummed over his background gasp and started a one sided conversation in parseltongue. He cupped her cheek before moving his palm to the back of her head and tipping his own back so he could imagine someone else on their knees.

She narrowed her eyes and let him set the pace, it wasn't like she was pimping this as more than it was. Wielding magic had an underpublicized drawback in that when it was good, it was _very_ good. There was a reason that the showers ran here day and night. She wondered idly if this was indeed from performing magic or if there was something or someone who was going to interrupt their little arrangement. One of the new visitors perhaps, the Beauxbatons were quite something.

He only just managed to squeak out the '_silencio' _spell before she made certain that he would find her sorely missed.

0.0

The door banged as Hermione, Ron and Harry left the pub at Hogsmeade, along with a group of other Gryffindor celebrating their narrow victory. The group of Professors in the corner, two men and two women, relaxed notionally, they weren't the last students to leave by any means, but it was always easier to talk about someone when they were not in the room.

There was silence amongst them as bar staff swapped out a tray of sloshing glasses for an assortment sucked dry. Snape tore along the seams of a packet of dry roasted peanuts, opening it and the discussion.

"And what of the girl?" The subject seemed distasteful, as disgusting to him as the powder coating from the snack food.

"She will be the last, the moratorium will never be lifted." Dumbledore sighed. "They are too dangerous."

"And what is written?"

"They appear only in the oldest textbooks. The Ministry has been quite thorough, even personal libraries have been exorcised. The restricted section at Hogwarts is a rare exception, the Guild of course maintain their right to retain the information. They will always appear in Fairytales, that cannot be helped, but they will change over time anyway. People will forget. It is best."

Snape interjected, too hasty for him. "I'm sorry, I…miss her…I…"

McGonagalls head snapped up from watching the whirlpool in her glass. "My sister. And you tell me of your great loss. Don't. Don't you dare."

Professor Trelawney cleared her throat and patted McGonagalls hand. "She is quite well in the Great Beyond. All is well."

Snape stared at the crumbs discolouring his finger and drawled, "the girl, will she be ready?"

"She has a name," remarked Dumbledore quietly, minutely following the detail in Snapes impassive face. "We cannot allow her to not be ready. We cannot allow this to happen again."

"I don't know how it has started this time – at all. How could a someone in that position not know that it was there, that it might some day choose?" McGonagall went over old ground, still seething at the inadequacy of men.

"He did his best, he kept watch." Snape defended, holding Dumbledores stare.

"After the event." McGonagall snapped.

"There was no sign of danger, even last Summer."

"This is pointless, we cannot accuse, there is no substantive proof that it was anything other than a mistake." Dumbledore tried to defuse McGonagalls anger, salt in a wound, antiseptic and pain for the purpose of healing.

"A man in his position doesn't make mistakes. They study for years, a lifetime as a journeyman before they are accredited. Mark my words, this was no mistake."

"He has offered a path in apprenticeship so that she could be kept safe. The Guildmasters say they have a responsibility…" Snape joined in, watching Trelawney watch. He looked up nervously.

"A vested interest is more like."

"It can protect, not just the wielder. In the right hands…" Trelawney speaking at last.

"Enough, this isn't getting us anywhere. Greater matters are upon us. Where is she now?" Dumbledore drew a Timeturner in the wet circles on the table top.

"With Firenze," Trelawney confirmed.

"Is she safe? The Centaurs are not known for their kindness." McGonagall queried, more curious than afraid for her charge.

"Would you cross her with anything less than a dozen wands at your back? Even the Ministry is afraid of her."

"For her."

"Of. Her." Snape corrected.

"But she is only a child…."

Professor Snape reached into his pocket to consolidate his point. "She has a Vine do her bidding. Childish she may be, but she is no child. They grow with the wielder, I do not have to explain that to you, of all people."

The ice in McGinagalls glass rattled like bone die in a cup. A crumpled page with a ragged edge was smoothed with a pale hand on the sticky table top so that all of them could see.

"Serverus," McGonagall asked, shocked to her core. "Did you tear that from a school book?"

Eight illustrations. One animated, the one where three leaves and a tendril flexed away from a central rod. Snape ground his teeth when Dumbledore swiftly took it up and put it in his pocket.

Dumbledore gestured Snape to the bar. "Another round?" Snape followed the paper.

Minerva turned to Trelawney. "She needs more help."

"She has Cedric."

"If she will let him."

"He found your sisters orb."

"Where was it?" asked McGonagall, clutching at her throat.

"The room of requirement. I told him what it was, can be, but they have to find their own way."

"Is she…was she still there?"

"Part of her perhaps, in the way that a thing made by ones hand carries part of its Maker. Intent if nothing more. It was made to express her love remember, before? I hope I have done the right thing…"

"Did you see anything in it? Anything of her." McGonagalls face was torn, desperation that she had, or had not, both responses desired and loathed equally, that her sister was indeed gone but perhaps trapped in a thing of her own making as she had been before she had died.

"He already had hold of it in his bare hand. He didn't know. I'm sorry. It had already taken up his thoughts, his will. He wants her for the dance."

"He wants her full stop," retorted McGonagall. "You should have seen them in class."

"Worse than Severus and Helen?" The name slipped out, cobwebs on her lips, dead but still not spoken, lest she be called in whatever form she now took. One of the Vine wands many powers. The silence repeated a name not spoken in twenty years.

"The dance," repeated McGonagall, planning a new lesson on the fly. "Perhaps, they need a push in the right direction."

"It would mean that the Guild would reject her."

"All the better."

McGonagall watched Dumbledore offer the paper back to Snape. The ice in her glass crazed and cracked into a sea of miniature bobbing floes.

"Pomona needs to know, Poppy too. We need to stick together."

Trelawney flicked a fingernail against her glass and studied the ripples, crashing back into each other. Seeing and unseeing a bird with two heads

"There is a complication."

0.0

Dumbledore held onto the paper as Snape went to take it from him, "she will come to you," he said softly.

"I never meant..Minerva."

"Minerva has her own demons," Dumbledore winced at the poor choice of words. "You will teach her what she needs, or this will not end well, for any of us."

Grief etched Snapes face, "it was an accident, I was defending..."

"Spare me," Dumbledore said dryly, "and do not underestimate her." Snape considered which 'her' he might be referring to, come to think of it, which she. He shook his head, he had been sitting with Trelawney too long, imprecision was infectious.

"Start with 'protego,' I imagine she will find her own way from there. You will find her quite able, even without her protector."

Snapes lip curled, "I know how to do my job."

Dumbledore still didn't release the paper, "I'm sure Cedric will take care of…this, but he was your choice, your responsibility."

"I know the consequences," said Snape, pulling the paper away and tucking it safely out of sight. Angry resignation marked his brow, he pulled out his wand and running a thumbnail over the beautifully carved raised handle, he split it open to reveal the original withered wood bisected with the nub of a wooden ring.

He said without rancour, "I live with it every day." He mock saluted his reflection in the mirror behind the bar and drained his glass in one, before thumbing the ornate bandage back into place.

0.0

Hermione could feel the flush on her cheeks, the mess of her hair where the wind had played games with it and the overall feeling of well being from simply being out of doors.

"It is decided. He will be ready, when you are ready."

Hermione didn't ask, just walked alongside him. They skirted the perimeter of the Forbidden Forest, a third of the way round she estimated. Her lessons with Firenze were always in motion so she could never take notes and had resorted to recording their sessions with her wand tucked up her sleeve. It had taken her all of five minutes to work out that Firenze would never answer a direct question directly. For all that, he was the best Astral Physicist she had ever met.

The centaur stopped by twin oaks that marked some sort of path, perhaps a rabbits trail and stared off, into the Forest. "What do you see?"

Hermione stared into the dark, blinking uncertainly at the daylight meeting first dappled shade, casting writhing figures on the ground, then black, full dark.

"Death. I don't like it." Her voice sounded querulous to her own ears.

The centaur moved to stand across the path, facing out towards her, framed by the boughs of the oak. The ancient wood twisted towards him although there was no breeze.

"Speak."

Hermione gasped as the wood came alive in her vision. "The trees, these trees are guardians." She frowned. She shook her head at a half torn cry, half heard and a second weaker bleat. Firenze tilted his head and bowed his forelegs, offered both horny hands, crossed at the wrists.

"Mount, it will be safer."

As soon as she had both hands in his, he had flicked her over his withers and onto his back. She clutched onto his torso as he climbed once again to his feet. Seconds later two centaurs burst into view. Disgust painted the face of the older one, when he saw Hermione on Firenzes back, curiosity had put the other, younger one in her thrall. Hermione shifted so she was more upright, clinging with her knees and moving her hands out of sight, twisting them in the bottom of the line of hair than ran down his spine to make her feel secure. He sidled under her touch and jerked his chin at the new arrivals.

"It is as you said," the centaur with the unfriendly face had an unfriendly tone. The other offered a hank of golden hair that reached almost to the ground.

"Trim it," instructed Firenze and watched the economical actions of his herd mates, gathering the ends of the hair level, adding when Hermione spotted the dull gleam of a knife, "for her."

"She is full grown?" the younger one asked. The older centaur bent the hair over his thumb and cut it level both ends with the knife, then held it up so it dangled in his hand above the ground so that Firenze could see its full length. A breeze splayed the dozen or so strands apart, silver sparkled amongst the gold.

Firenzes tone had an unfamiliar depth to it, "not yet." and appearing the most direct he had even been, "remember your future is yet uncertain." Hermione shifted her hips uncomfortably and Firenzes hoof lifted a clod of earth with his movements when her heels accidently kicked him in the ribs.

The younger one scented the air, his pointed ears flicked back and forth and he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Grown enough," he replied.

Firenze balled his fists and pawed the ground

"Give it to her," Firenze instructed, baring his teeth in a grimace when the hair passed to the youngster and the older centaur deliberately turned and walked off, looked once over his shoulder before breaking into a gallop. The youngsters back legs danced sideways, his tail lashed and Hermione caught a glimpse of something she had seen etched on Greek vases, only a whole lot bigger.

"Kazyr." Firenze warned. Hermione slipped the wand from her sleeve to her hand, just to be on the safe side, lifted a leg straight over Firenzes head and slid to the ground. She was sick of other people fighting her battles for her.

"I, have a wand!" She threatened.

Kazyr studied her, her wand, then dismissed both.

"I too have a wand," replied Kazyr grinning at her with feral intent.

"The hair must be given." Firenze shouldered past her, circling the pair of them.

"And so it was, in death. What will she give, in life?"

Hermione came to a sudden understanding and channelled her inner Ginny. Ginny would resolve this with a smile and a touch and a promise unfulfilled. Hermione tried her best to emulate it.

She dropped her wand hand, offering the other, gesturing to the part of the centaur that drooped almost to the ground.

"And this, does this give?" she asked, going for flattery and getting as far as fascinated.

The centaur flicked his tail out of the way to give her a better view, the tip rose, levitating under the touch of her gaze.

"It gives," smirked the centaur, rubbing his palms down his chest so that his muscles stood out against the bones of his torso. He scratched furiously at the fur where man joined beast.

She reached a finger to trail along his side, causing and following flickers of twitches across the length of his flank. She dared to pass behind him. Again he lifted his tail for her, stamping his hind hooves, not bothering to twist to see when he could feel.

Her hand slipped down his haunch, to cup the sack of his seed with the hand that her wand housed. It felt like the velvet bag Cho so closely guarded and she wondered if centaur parts were traded like Tigers appendages in the Muggle world. It was the right size, the same velvet softness.

"Or does it take?" She was barely aware that it had even happened, before the warm, heavy weight was in her hand, further away from the centaurs body than it could possibly be. Were he intact. Hermione drew backwards, to the embrace of the guardians tessellated bark.

Firenze slapped him hard on the rump and Kazyr stumbled forward, shrieking in outrage, pain and horror. He lashed out with a back leg, Firenze caught it and twisting, threw his weight behind the hold so his adversary landed heavily on his side.

"I have seen you in the geldings choir," grunted Firenze. "I never knew why until now."

"Master…avenge me!" Kazyr pleaded, scrambling in the dirt.

"It is done. You will give, it is written." Firenze sought the stars beyond the fading daylight.

Kazyr rolled, getting his back legs under him, twisting to look for blood. There was nothing, just the faint hint of singed hair. He breathed heavily, but stayed on the knees of his forelegs, raised the centaur tail hair in both hands and offered it in Hermiones direction. Hermione approached carefully, he had his head turned away. They were of a height like this, his handsome face twisted in disgrace and pain. She took the hair and coiled it so that it would fit in the pocket of her robes, she would think on it tonight as she carved the second egg. The purpose would come, she assured herself, if she tried hard enough.

"You asked me what I would give," stated Hermione, talking to his sideburn. His ear twitched, flattening against his head, his face jerked further away if that were possible. "As you give me what is already mine," she took his forearm, urging him to open his hand with what she pressed there. "So do I."

"See her safe," Firenze instructed, still gazing at the heavens. "I have work to do."

The look on his Kazyrs face would stay with her forever. "Lady," Kazyr stumbled to his feet.

"She will ride."

"They will know," Kazyn declared, shocked. "The herd, I will be cast out."

"Soon," Firenze confirmed. "It is not so unpleasant," he spared the younger centaur a glance and a nod for his student, then stood back as a second, human figure began to emerge from the gloom.

Luna walked as if she was in her own private world, her face upturned to her own private monsoon that washed her flimsy clothes close to her body and the blood from her hand that coated her from elbow to wrist. She strolled as comfortable in the Forest as a wood nymph, born there. She nodded dreamily to Hermione and stopped in front of Kazym, touching him briefly on his forearm with a damp hand, "for your pain." Scratched him in the fur where man met beast and smiled when his back leg drummed repeatedly at the ground.

She took the recently excised organs from his unresisting hand, "thank you, you shouldn't have. Congratulations."

She turned to Hermione, "they are magnificent, aren't they."

"Quite," said Hermione dryly. She gestured to the rain cloud.

"It's the Dryads, they were trying to help."

Hermione pointed her wand, "finite incantatem!" The raincloud shrivelled, the only noise the slow patter of drops from Lunas clothes.

"I'll walk back with her," Luna addressed Kazym, "you may go." He backed up a step and bowed, leaving Firenze still staring at the sky. She took Hermiones hand as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "Walk with me."

"What just happened?" asked Hermione, her head spinning.

"Kazym has a new brother-son," Luna replied.

"A baby?"

"It's not the right name, they call them…it doesn't matter, it's the same thing. His friend was dying and he offered his life in exchange so that Kazym could have a brother-son. It's how they keep the numbers of the herd in check." She said matter of factly.

They walked for a while in silence. Hermione wondered if she knew about the tail hair, wondered if she should mention it. "And you helped with the birth?"

Luna gave her a fey smile and whittled the dried blood from under her nails with her wand. Hermione felt vaguely sick.

"Firenze is giving me extra lessons in divination."

"Oh really," said Luna, overly interested, "what do you see now?"

Hermione stared hard at the path ahead. "A sock."

"Join me for dinner?" asked Luna as if Hermiones answer made perfect sense. "The kitchen will fry these in clove oil for me, they really are quite delicious."

"Err no, thanks," choked Hermione, adding an afterthought, "but I might like the bag."

A/N ML said Hermione should have knee'd Cedders in the 'nads last time, you could say that it shaped the editing for this chapter.

The song that the girls are dancing to was made famous by Ronaldo, youtube has an awesome version of a dozen dancers shaking their stuff. Dial up 'nossa nossa'. My apologies in advance to anyone who gives this stuck in their head for the next week.

A charabanc is an early type of open topped horse drawn vehicle. The vernacular is also loosely used where I come from, to describe a pile of people, a lot of beer and a mode of transport marginally too small for the number of bodies it is expected to convey.

Centaurs in classical mythology were fearless warriors, they were also renowned for their impulse control issues around women. Alcohol was blamed. It often is.


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: J K Rowling introduced duelling, I just made it real. Don't try this at home. It will hurt. Seriously.

Cedric escorted Cho as far as the stairwell with his hand on the small of her back and a small smile playing on his lips. It wasn't her fault that she was no longer flavour of the month and from a guys perspective, there was no such thing as a bad blowjob. Although, she had been a little more rough with him than usual, he put that down to her impatience in his delay acceding to her request to partner her to the Gala. They were just in time to see Hermione introduce the Bulgarian Seeker to Harry and Ron and learn that the victors were celebrating at Hogsmeade.

A gaggle of girls in Gryffindor colours cat-called to Cho when she delivered an apologetic smile to Cedric. She gave a side nod in Cedrics direction and joined in the laughter when she theatrically fanned herself with her hand in a parody of the dance from the game.

Hermione turned at the noise and rolled her eyes at the girls, noting the usual suspects and more importantly, the subject of the mirth lingering on the stairs with an easy smile. Cedric watched Hermiones gaze bounce between him and Cho and let the smile slip from his face. Mentally he offered the Clinton defence. He watched the two groups walk away from him comparing one back, ramrod straight and the other with a nonchalant sway. His teeth clenched briefly when Hermione slapped Rons hand away from her arse and her voice rang out.

"Stop it Ron. Honestly you are such a child!"

The statement was so obviously flawed, her friend towered over her now. Cedric could easily fit two of her narrow frame mentally across the width of Rons shoulders. His left hand closed over his right and the sound of his knuckles popping cracked the silence one by one.

Cedric made his way to the common room via the study carrels, considering how quickly his mood had soured and ruminating on how Viktor and Hermione might have run into each other. Hufflepuffs were going to Hogsmeade too to commiserate on their performance in the quidditch game, but Cedric had already bowed out. He had to get his head in the new game. The one in the Forest tonight.

He allowed himself a grim smile and hoped Hermione had completed her homework before going out to play. He was both pleased and a little annoyed to see the weird construction that constituted her timetable and a roll of parchment littered with his handwriting and now a series of neat tick marks suggesting that she had also completed the recommended reading that he had left her with. Scrawls in the margin indicated that she had taken it upon herself to swot up further in key areas and included at least two tomes that he himself had not perused.

He tossed her timetable idly from one hand to the other, trying without success to pry each subject from its puzzle place so that he could see the keystone, but it remained irritatingly obscure, since each subject seemed to link almost organically with it and each other. He tried to guess what her keystone would say, wondering if it was at all congruent with his own ambition of 'eternal glory.' The pieces in his construct came apart easily and snapped back in place with a pleasing 'zsup' sound that had taken him hours to perfect. As it stood however, the two timetables could not be merged, which had been his original intent.

Sighing, he stuffed Hermiones version into an inside pocket and exposed the heavy contents of another pocket to the light. He extracted the orb discovered in the room of requirement and studied it, but it gave no further clues as to the mysteries of Hermiones desires. He had intended to give it back to her after dance practice, but changed his mind when he saw the visitors from the other schools arriving. He thumbed an indent on the otherwise perfect curve, setting it to spinning on his thumb like a basketball. The flurry of snowflakes within stirred and spread in a perfectly miniature tornado. Ruefully he remembered the accident that had caused him to erase a fascinating insight into the mind of the girl he had previously discarded in previous years as bookish and uninteresting.

The orb had been perched on his nightstand, serving as the best material for his self indulgence whilst he sought her sleeping mind the previous night. His cock stirred just in the remembering of it. Contentedly he had drifted off to sleep, only to be jerked awake by the sensation of lips closing over teeth, closing over him and the heady new taste sensation of something that desperately needed to be added to his yearbook collection. His flailing arm had hit the nightstand, knocking the orb just enough for him to be worried for its safety, and in his somnolent state he had caught it with his bare hand. A weird feeling of deja-vu gripped had him when the snowflakes had settled, just as they were doing now as he stopped it from spinning. He blinked at it owlishly in the artificial light and shook it one more time to dispel the idea that he might have seen, for just an instant, the outline of a hare couched almost flat against the inside edge of the glass. It hadn't stopped him coming like a train.

He placed the orb carefully in one of her pigeon holes and stood back. Impulsively he retrieved it and allowed himself a grin of childish delight as he dropped it into the toe of a small, white sock and placed it a second time, front and centre.

0.0

It was a short distance to the Hufflepuff common room, down a narrowing passageway that got progressively darker and more claustrophobic as he neared the door. There was no password for this door, Cedric thrust a hand into the centre of a painting of a woodland scene, into the darkness that suggested at a badgers sett underneath the roots of a spreading oak and waited for the feeling of a cold nose and the brush of stiff muzzle bristles to accept him as genuine. His house would never be troubled by imposters aided by polyjuice potion. A badgers sight may be poor for colour, but its sense of smell and powers of detection for the faintest tremor were unsurpassed. The painting swung open and he stepped into a cosy space punctuated by lumps of dark furniture.

Not everyone was at Hogsmeade it seemed, somewhat to his dismay, since he would prefer the quiet of his own company to disassemble Hermione's concoction. He slumped into the corner of a sofa and tipped his head back, but was immediately joined by a girl with long blonde hair who sat forward expectantly, as Tomas dropped a package in his lap paying scant regard to his family assets.

"It's chocolate," said the girl, "I can smell it a mile off."

Cedric dispensed a smile under a cocky eyebrow. She smirked in return, offering a pearly reply and twirled the painfully high ponytail that she had scraped her hair into. She was a destination already visited, he nodded to himself, one well worth refreshing the memory of, once he got rid of the Finchbury facelift. After all, he thought, what's the point of all that beautiful, blonde window dressing, if you can't wrap it around something. He adjusted the parcel in his lap.

She stuffed her stockinged feet under his thigh and he masked the downturn in his lips when he thought of feet in white socks instead. Maybe she had some. His stomach turned. He flipped the package over, annoyed with himself and inspected the return address, recognising his Mothers handwriting. A fond smile made the girl fidget and he raised both eyebrows to tease her.

"And if I give it to you?" he asked, pulling at the string that criss-crossed the brown paper wrapping.

She gave him a look through her lashes that suggested she would give him something right back that might make him miss the Forest in terms of timing if not actuality. He regretfully shook his head.

"You never eat chocolate," she whined, "and it's the good stuff, I can tell."

He picked open the folds at one end and unsheathed the box The box was indeed chocolates, high-end merchandise destined for the tourists that helped keep the reputation of his home village as the place to visit for unusual antique pieces. The box lid portrayed distinctive image of the river that bisected the village triple arched bridge in local stone, that crossed it. Cedric allowed his lips and ironic twist at the proximity of the pub, 'The Travellers Holt' and the quaint church, whose twisty spire leaned like the vicar at the bar ten minutes after the sermon ended. Chunky white letters over a blue sky announced Greetings from Ottery-St-Catchpole. The sentiment made him briefly homesick, not for his own home, but for the feeling that home gave him, most recently experienced in the Weasleys kitchen.

Cedric flipped open the box lid and the girl inhaled appreciatively. He picked out one of the morsels and held it up to his eyes with his palm flat, before tossing the open box on her knees. She wasted no time in sampling the windfall and moaned in appreciation.

On his hand a chocolate otter rose on its haunches, using its tail for balance and looked around. Cedric studied its form, thinking back to the patronnii in the corridor and winkling out a memory of the different types that there were – not the different animal forms, but the nomenclature of how an animal form arose for an individual. He stretched his neck and swallowed slowly at the potential his memories offered. When he lifted his thumb, the little creature bounded up on to it.

A low laugh was all the warning he got before Tomas snatched the little beast away and bit its head off. Cedric half rose in anger.

"You look like you don' know if you want to pet it or eat it," goaded Tomas. He chewed thoughtfully, adding, "nice beaver."

Cedric grinned in spite of himself, "yeah, I bet," then side eyed his colleague.

Tomas had stopped chewing. Cedric mentally kicked himself when he said, "delicia?"

"What about it?"

"You know who she is."

Cedric shrugged noncommittally

"An' you no' have any yet," finished Tomas, sure of himself. He swept the girls legs out of the way and planted himself between them. "Who is she?" he insisted.

"Who is who?" asked the girl.

Tomas fed her another chocolate otter, brushing dark crumbs from her lower lip. "No-one for you, my cherry." He turned back to Cedric licking his lips, "interested parties need to know…"

Cedric pushed himself off the couch hard enough for it to scoot back an inch. The incumbents corrected the positioning without pause. They all navigated the room in complete darkness enough to know that exact placement was vital.

Tomas stared up at him, starting a slow smile. "She is going tonight, no?" Considering changing his plans if it meant getting sight of whoever it was, holding the great cocksman at arms length.

"Who?" interrupted the girl. Tomas patted her thigh and reached for another otter, forced to look at what he was doing as the little buggers were escaping.

Cedric leaned down and deliberately tugged the box out of the girls grasp and strode off to the dorm. Tomas replied, more to himself than anyone else. "No, not going" he rubbed the girls thigh in what he hoped was an enticing manner, "jus' like me." He placed a wriggling chocolate creature between his lips and offered himself as a sacrificial anode.

0.0

In the Gryffindor common room, two ginger heads of hair, almost exactly alike, bent over a scrap of parchment extracted from an exhausted pygmy owl, fresh from the foul air of the Capital.

"What are we going to do?"

"We can't stop now, we'd lose everything."

"Could it be a faulty batch?"

"Yes that's it, faulty batch. We'll send down a fresh supply. Get someone else to say the spell."

"But Fred," said George, "it's the third dead one this week. The casino will be full of them by the end of the month at this rate.

"We can to alter the disclaimer saying that they can have their bodies back. We only needed it in there to start with so that we could use them to make the place look full. You know, enhance the ambience…."

George looked at his twin dubiously. Fred threw the fragment into the embers of the fireplace and poked at it with the fire iron until it was entirely consumed. "Never mind that now, there's this foreign lot that's got to be good for a few galleons and the thing in the Forest tonight."

0.0

In the back workroom of a shop in Diagon Alley, a grey haired man busily tidied away the days work and set a pot of tea on a low stove. Front of house, a fat bodied, long legged spider let itself in through the letterbox.

Olivander didn't see the spider until it was already upon him and he upset the pot in his haste to sweep it from his body. Undeterred, the thing launched itself on a silver thread and climbed onto the skin of his bare hand with indecent haste. Before he had a moment to squash it flat, it bit him and finding a match to the hair in potion it had ingested, sought the first available flat surface.

Olivander clutched his wound and watched the insect draw two words and an impression of a cloven hoof before it scuttled off. 'Expect me.'

He stared for at the message for a moment, trying to consider what it might mean. Snape had found what he was looking for perhaps? The 'E' started to smoke and he drew back just as the letter exploded, going off like a firecracker. Letter after letter popped and fizzled out of sight until the entire message had been obliterated. He reached for a quill and parchment, what with everything coming at once, there was so little time. An owl would have to do.

Professor, I shall arrive in good time for the wand weighing ceremony.

0.0

Cedric tossed the box of chocolates on to his bed and it fell awkwardly, the tray dislodging from the base of the box, exposing a small pink post-it note. In his Mothers handwriting, a message informed him that Hogwarts had been chosen for the re-inauguration of the Triwizard Tournament. Winning would be quite a prize and entirely consistent with the raison d'etre on his keystone.

From his trunk, he extracted a polishing cloth and a small bottle of linseed oil and set to polishing his wand. The soothing motion helped to clear his mind and relaxed his shoulders. When he moved to replace the cloth and oil, he was perfectly calm. His hand brushed the corner of his yearbook and he debated sneaking just one look at the ladies page. It couldn't hurt.

The pictures on the page had stopped swapping places at least. Hermiones plain frame was in the centre, with the other girls images primping prettily in a circle around her. In the rectangle of Hermiones picture, a dark archway was now steady. What the archway led to was obscured by a continuous fall of snowflakes. A chocolate otter scrambled on top of the page and stood on its hind legs outlined by the rain of white. Angrily it chittered at him and he laughed out loud at how it berated him, reminding him of Hermione and the fierce way she dealt with everything. Truly the epitome of attack is the best form of defence.

He scrubbed his hands through his hair. She was definitely getting under his skin and the patronus thing wasn't helping. There were three ways she could share a patronus form with him, hereditary, geography and the other one. The one that meant they were both deeper in than either realised. He stuck out his lower lip and pulled at it. No time for that now. He dropped the otter back in the box and secured the lid, tucking it under the yearbook in his trunk.

0.0

Cedric slipped slipped away shortly after the introductions and announcements at dinner. Thanks to his Mother, the stuff about the T.T. was already old hat. It wasn't that he had been watching the Gryffindor table exactly, but he couldn't help chuckling at Hermione nailing Rons sweater sleeve to the table with her fork while he drooled over the Beauxbatons flipping their skirts. Tomas had looked over, vainly trying to pinpoint what had caught his humour and Cedric left before he gave anything away. He swiftly changed into stretch pants and a hoodie before replacing his top robes.

0.0

Cedric passed from the fringes of the forest, deeper into its dark embrace. What little moonlight there was did little to illuminate his path, but his footsteps never wavered. His tread was measured and a thoughtful frown graced his brow. What opponents would stand against him this night? A frisson of excitement tightened his muscles and he forced himself to relax into the anticipation..and the fear.

By the third oak, a dun coloured centaur waited silently with a towel and hip flask. They were never the same and whilst it might have been polite to enquire after its name, the pronunciation would probably be beyond him due to the nickers and huffs that punctuated them. Cedric declined the flask and fell in behind the gigantic beast, using the sound of the heavy hooves to guide him further, rather than sight. Cedric counted his steps as a distraction from the unending tactics that his mind paraded in front of him. 423, 424, 425 same as always, 425 steps into the deepest part of the forest and they entered a clearing lit with cool blue light that emanated from the branches overhead. The collected occupants offered the bated air a universal sigh when they caught sight of him raising his hood and turning his back. His opponents would be similarly hidden and each ones arrival was masked from those before and after by both route and placement.

In the centre of the clearing, demarcated by a twisting ribbon of grey-blue smoke was a rectangular ring. Cedric stuffed his hands in the front pocket of his hoodie to keep them warm and waited for the draw.

The centaur lowered its bearded mien and growled commentary on the first tier games already past. Cedric listened with half an ear, adding the results to his personal rating table and adjusting his sleeves.

"Put a galleon on me, for me," he murmured

"Win or place?"

"Win." His rating placed him as the top seed in the second of a three tier game, not because he had lost a match although he had drawn a few, but because he had only recently taken to duelling – last year being his first in the arena. Some sporting individuals tried their hand as soon as they arrived at Hogwarts.

Not a word was spoken, but an expectant susurration warned him that the draw was being prepared. The centaur retreated to the judges table and was met by a further eleven of his kind, the blue light patchworking their varied coats in shades of grey and black. Six pairs of straws were drawn and chalked on a board, twelve numbers. After the final bout, names would be given, it added to the suspense and allowed for no planning, even in the moments before the bout, if those selected were first up. In the pyramid contests, names were only released as the vanquished were eliminated from the competition, such that a loser in the early stages, to the ultimate winner, might not know their name until the very end. "Third," his minder informed him.

Cedric let out a calming breath, readying himself for the entertainment, third was a good placement, enough to get a feel for the crowd, steady his nerves and spec out the skills of four other players before having to face his own nemesis. He shucked the hoodie and fastened the robes back on loosely. It would be unusual to have a blackout match in the middle of a pyramid contest, but it was a twist he was expecting sooner or later and his performance would allow his, or anothers ascension to the third tier if the outcome was favourable.

Two cowled figures entered the ring through a gap in the smoke ribbon that closed behind them and moved to opposite ends. Wands were hidden, hands hidden in the opposite arms sleeve and the opponents turned to face each other, both executing a stiff bow. A third cowled figure wearing a white sash apparated directly into the centre of the ring, the referee. The smoke thinned and drifted hazily upwards so that the rectangle was enclosed to a height of around eight feet and was as transparent as a wine glass passed one too many times through dishwasher salt. He knew from previous experience that if a blackout match came about, this same screen would act as an infra-red filter, allowing the audience to see what the participants could not. A sharp peep from the whistle around the referees neck and both opponents struck the obligatory duelling posture, leading leg forward, trailing arm raised, offering the smallest profile to be struck by magic.

There was a tense silence, then the ring exploded into noise and light. Hex met hex, curse ricocheted off counter curse, all supposedly non-lethal, but serious impediments to casting the following spell, thus, in theory, allowing an unequivocal coup de grace. Cedric watched carefully for any patterns in the magical fluxes, linking them to past bouts to identify the combatants. He would lay odds on the one nearest him being Fred Weasley and where there was one Weasley twin, there was always the other. A full body bind curse was partially deflected and the recipient wobbled, stance compromised but managing to launch a duck-foot hex that got through.

The referee moved back a step to keep both contestants in their field of view, whistle in mouth, ready to stop the duel at the next clear shot. A pause in the fight, while both caught their breath and Cedric studied Weasleys opponent. Barty Crispin he thought shrewdly, taking his finals this summer and an artist at Summoning, the wand matched too, oak heartwood. Weasleys robe flapped in a breeze that disturbed nothing else and his hood fell over his face, he launched a last minute 'stupefy' with a curved trajectory that found its mark and Crispin went down like a nine-pin.

The referees whistle sounded shrilly and he visited the fallen first, reversing the winning spell and any other lingering magical maladies before affording the same service to the victor, then apparating briefly to the judges table before out of sight altogether. Cedric watched for the two faces to appear in the crowd during the second match to confirm his suspicions. The new opponents were less evenly matched and it was over just after he spotted Fred shouldering his way towards a bay centaur and presumably his charge. The bay and his dun centaur were the only two activated by the end of the second duel. He leafed through the mental page he kept for the Twins, certain that he would soon face George in ring.

His centaur parted the crowd and Cedric entered the ring, hands in his sleeves and keeping his head down, he moved to one end. He murmured an entreaty to the beast in the moon to keep him safe and smiled to himself at his own foolishness. Mantras help those who help themselves. The crowd fell silent and he bowed automatically. Even before he had even raised himself, the lights went out. No light penetrated this far into the forest, there was nothing darker than the black that surrounded him now.

"Shit!" Cedric heard clearly whispered from the other end of the ring. Definitely George he thought to himself, definitely going down. Cedric dropped to a crouch and stayed low, slipping the robes from his shoulders to use his upper body for its extra senses.

He knew the walls of the ring would deform outside of its given parameters, because for this match, the normal rules no longer applied so not even the space they fought in was certain. He wasn't completely sure that there was even a referee until he caught a glimmer of the sash that was visible, in a vague attempt to keep them from being hit accidentally. He waited and waited and there, a shifting in the air prickled his consciousness. Scraping a handful of dirt, he moved silently to his feet and stealthily angled away, keeping the referee between himself and where he thought George was approaching. Nothing wrong with a little dirt in a fight. He wondered if the hive mind extended to the point that it could pass the games barrier meaning that potentially George could see through Freds eyes perfectly clearly.

Apparently not. The next exchange happened so fast. A silhouette flashed in front of the referees sash. Cedric threw the dirt ahead of him and his opponent struck out at the sound where it landed, leaving the origin of the magic arcing in the air visible for an instant. Cedric attacked with 'rictusempra' racing to put himself beside George as he fell. Cedric knelt swiftly so that George caught Cedrics knee hard in the small of his back on his way down, helped by Cedrics palm slapping viciously against his breastbone and a sucker punch to the kidney. Cedric pushed the groaning body off his raised knee and stepped away panting, kicking Georges inert hand to make him release his wand. The lights came on blinding him, even before the referee had blown to stop the match.

Cedric smiled grimly and watched the referee tending his victim. Eventually, George struggled to his feet, his face a rictus of pain. Cedric departed from the strict rules of the game, since he was already unmasked by his own actions and strolled over, offering his hand. George took it slowly and they shook once, before George bent uncomfortably to retrieve his wand.

The referee spoke dryly, "you are both excluded from further bouts. Mr Weasley on the grounds of health and Mr Diggory on the basis that you are too dangerous to be part of the second tier." Cedric looked over sharply. This was normally a judges decision, he would have withdrawn anyway, but being booted out still stung, even if he had secured his place in the top level. He fixated on the few strands of lank black hair poked out the bottom of the referees cowl and nodded briskly. He was down a galleon, but hopefully up several notches on everyones radar, except perhaps the one that mattered. He bowed briefly, retrieved his robes and left the ring.

The centaur proffered the hip flask again and this time he emptied it, gulping greedily at the mead like taste, part choking on the centaur spirits. He struggled back into his clothing whilst his minder waited patiently. The rumble of a laugh caught Cedrics attention and he followed the centaurs line of sight to another centaur. It had an inflatable doll strapped to its back like a rider and was corralled by its fellows, one of whom seemed to be trying to pierce his ear whilst another unsuccessfully attempted to mount him.

"What's going on?" asked Cedric.

"Initiation," replied his minder.

"They are not having a lot of luck," commented Cedric as the centaur at the rear fell off sideways, exposing a large, but flaccid cock.

"The geldings, they make their own luck," his minder replied gruffly. Cedric winced at the word.

"And they volunteer?" asked Cedric.

"Kazym was an accident, he met a Witch…"

Cedric squinted, then frowned, amazed that the story had not got out. "Which Witch?"

0.0

The moon was at its zenith and Cedrics shoulders carried its silvery weight on the trail back to the school. His wand hummed in his hand and he moved his fingers up and down its length like a fiddler practising for the bow. Behind him a pale glow briefly illuminated a doorway cut into the side of the hill and two figures leaving it.

A/N: There will be more tomorrow/Monday. I have to split it otherwise BBR can't read it in her lunch-hour and that makes her a sad panda.

The Clinton defence went something along the lines of a blowjob (with someone other you're your usual partner) cannot be classified as infidelity.

The Finchbury facelift is known in Muggle terms as the 'Croydon' facelift, NED if you are Scottish, Millie for the Irish and I have no idea what the American equivalent is. Perhaps you could enlighten me?

In England pubs are always within spitting distance of a church. It's all very chicken vs egg.

A sacrificial anode is a material that is deliberately consumed as a by-product of forging (or protecting) something more valuable.


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: Dates in the diary are closer than you think.

"_Protego ego_!" Hermione lashed out as Malfoy mock tripped beside her. The jug of squash he was carrying lurched in his hands, rebounding off the magical barrier and upending itself down his front. He scowled bitterly in her direction, drawing back to hurl the glass jug at her in vengeance when it was plucked from his grasp by his House Master.

Malfoy looked around in dismay.

Snape uttered a single word flatly, "change." He did not bother to watch his charge cower and hurry away.

"Professor, he was going to drop that…" Neville defended

"Detention Mr Longbottom, for sticking your nose where it does not belong." Neville gripped his eating irons brutally hard.

Hermione eyed the Professor silently and his lips twitched a small sneer. Temperance was, as he was personally aware, a hard won skill, often at great cost. "See me later," he drawled and stalked off to the trestles at the head of the great hall.

Hermione turned back towards the table. "Thanks Neville," she offered him a small smile which he returned sheepishly. Dinner materialised on a long line of serving dishes in the middle of the table which put paid to any further conversation for a time.

0.0

Professor Dumbledore introduced the Beauxbatons shortly after dessert and they paraded jauntily down the centre aisle. They caused quite a stir with their skirts cut on the cross to waft just so and hair pinned back like a librarian wet dream without the glasses. There were times when Hermione really felt like she was one of the boys and times like these when she clearly was not. It wasn't so much Ron saying, "bloody hell," as Seamus elbowing him in the ribs as the Giantess passed saying, "don't think much of yours mate."

It had been a mistake to ask them to explain, because now she knew that a laughing group of boys eyeing up a group of girls, were splitting them up between them. The thought that she might be the last to be picked did not trouble her so much as the idea that she might be selected like cattle at an auction. She seethed inwardly at a society that was enlightened enough to allow a girl a veto, but still thought it odd for one to make the first move so that she wouldn't have to use it.

"Why don't you wear your hair like that?" asked Ron, with his eyes glazed over.

"Like what?" she demanded.

"You know, all up 'n stuff," he replied, still following bum cheeks with his eyes. The Creevey boy had his wand bobbing time as if he was conducting every pert wobble and bounce.

"I do, sometimes," she retorted, most recently during Potions, not that he had noticed, obviously.

It wasn't Rons fault that she caught sight of Cedric on his feet so that he could see better, or that the open mouthed smile he wore, wasted on a dozen arses that wouldn't see it, made her furious for reasons that she could not seem to put into words.

"Why doesn't it look like that then?" Ron said, sighing after them.

Hermiones silverware flashed down prongs first, barely missing the meat of his arm. He cringed away as far as his pinioned sweater sleeve would allow.

"You're vicious, you are."

The slamming of the first Durmstrang staff stopped her from stuffing a bread roll down the back of his neck for closure. She watched Krum pass with avid eyes, the silver corner cap on his left heel winked at her, even if he hadn't.

Ron nudged her, "I'll have that one washed and sent to your tent shall I?" he asked jokingly. Hermione pinched him hard on the inside of his thigh until he yelped. "what did he call you?" he added, trying to keep her pincers away from him, "ermine?"

"At least he was man enough to…." she stopped herself from finishing the sentence. Ron dropped his defences and stared at her like Crookshanks had just appeared with a dead Scabbers in his mouth.

"Man enough to what?" he asked in a squeaky croak. Dumbledore started to explain what an honour it was for Hogwarts to be chosen to host the Triwizard Tournament. "To what?" he asked again, worriedly.

"Shut. Up. Ron! This is important." She pinched him again and he hissed but curled her hand securely in his, keeping it on top of his thigh. The warmth under her knuckles was the only thing stopping her from following, when the main door closed behind a head of hair cut into a crisp point at the back.

0.0

Karkaroff raised his glass to his old friend. The liquid in the glass stirred weirdly in the firelight of Snapes study. "To better times."

Snape raised his own glass and threw back the liquid in one. He allowed himself a long blink as the fumes of alcohol cleared his sinuses like a flamethrower.

Karkaroff refreshed both glasses with the potent, colourless liquid. "It's the good stuff," he said nodding, waiting for the acknowledgement from his drinking partner. "The last we make from the still, under the Willow."

Snape nodded, he knew. Of course he knew.

"I saw Minerva," Karkaroff commented. "I am surprised she is still here."

Karkaroff scratched his forearm, exposing the tip of a black tattoo that was becoming ever more prominent. Snape raised his glass, setting it to his lips and mulling over a subject long buried under the autumn leaves of pain and regret.

Karkaroff leaned forward in his chair. "What happened?" In the ominous silence that followed, he added needlessly, "to the girl?"

Snape studied him, the way that he worried at his arm and the hunch in his shoulders. His own forearm burned with the brand that they shared. That they had all shared. He smiled thinly, "you will always be my oldest friend." The glasses refilled themselves and he added softly, "because you know too much."

A knock at the door made Karkaroff jump disproportionately and he rose to cover his embarrassment. "I should be going, another time perhaps."

Snape gave him a curt nod, Karkaroff moved to the door with him, behind them the bottle and glasses clinked quietly as they tidied themselves away.

Snape flung the door open and took an involuntary step back, immediately regretting his impropriety with the bottle.

"Miss Granger."

It was difficult enough to remain civil with Granger even when stone cold sober. Karkaroff sidled off and Snape stood aside, but did not gesture her to enter. He toyed with how best he might put her off until later. Alcohol slowed his reponse and dulled his sarcasm.

Hermione took the bull by the horns. "Professor, I need your help."

Snape stared stonily back. Hermione stepped over the threshold and pulled the door from his hand. She clicked it quietly shut behind her and leaning against it to steady herself. Firelight played across her features and turned her brown hair golden, shot through with amber. Snape took a deep breath, cursing memories hammering on his subconscious when a vine leaf made itself a bracelet over her wrist. Firelight. The burn of raw spirit. The sear of a body against his manhood, stealing his will.

"Professor?"

Brown eyes stared up at him rather than blue, a mouth too pink when it should have been red from his ardent admiration. His jaw locked in agitation.

"I need you to teach me what you have been teaching Harry." Hermione ploughed on.

'_Potter_', fled through his mind. She had come for him. He had been waiting, waiting by the Willow, they had agreed, but Helen, Helen….

"I already read up on how to protect a space, an object, even a person. I'm quite good," she said modestly. "But the mind thing… it feels like a Dark Art," she finished lamely.

'_Protect,_' skidded the corners of his circling thoughts. Snape armed himself with his wand, breathing heavily. Not here. She couldn't reach him here.

"… and Professor McGonagall said…" Snape refocused his effort on the present. "Professor McGonagall _sent_ you."

"There's something else," said Hermione, holding out her hand. "She said you had the Potion and spell to quick cure this.

Snape recovered himself and inspected the contents of her palm. "I think," he said faintly, "you may have been incorrectly sorted."

0.0

A/N: Time is the most important thing that you can give anyone, including yourself. Thankyou for reading


	9. Chapter 9

A/N JK Rowling made up herbology. I made up slugs made out of custard.

The flickering light of a single candle illuminated the toil of two women, each engrossed in their tasks. Either side of them, leafy plants emitting their own phosphorescently green light and fully a head high, stretched away in all directions but one. The air was fetid, stirring only as the two women passed. Professor McGonagall pulled another reddish pellet-like object from the underside of a leathery leaf and dropped it into a box. On the narrow end, a peeling label showed a picture of something strappy with a sky scraper heel and peep toe.

"They have matured extremely quickly, Pomona," commented McGonagall.

"I added thestrals pizzle to the manure this year," replied Professor Sprout, "the plants are almost climbing the walls to get away from it!" She laughed heartily at her own joke, then suddenly pointed her wand at the arching brickwork forming the roof, "_gastropodia dessicata!"_ A thin flash of red light shot from her wand and hit a foot-long, pink blancmange slug climbing the wall. The magic crazed across its length, sizzling and snapping until eventually the form dropped to the ground and exploded in a cloud of powdered debris.

"Crop should be ready for Poppy in a week or so," Sprout said happily. "I think she has perfected the drying spell now, if I can just keep these filthy beasts off the flower buds…"

"How are they getting in?"

"Leftovers from last years experiments with the crowns Hagrid bought from a man in a pub, trying to recreate the rhubarb triangle under controlled conditions. Over a thousand pints of custard disappeared before we realised what was happening." She zapped another slimy individual, yellow this time. "Tell me if you see a brown one, it might be chocolate and they make the best cocoa you have ever tasted."

McGonagall pulled a face, "I think that's all of them," dropping a last addition into the box and allowing herself a small smile as the pellet twitched in irritation when it hit the bottom of the box. She shook it so that they were spread evenly over the bottom of the box and wrestled the thin cardboard lid into place.

"How is Cedric getting on?" McGonagall asked airily, broaching the delicate subject that drove her to the underground greenhouse as much as collecting the ingredients for her next lesson.

"He has his work cut out for him," Sprout said fondly, "but he always did like a challenge. I thought one of the Beauxbatons might have been a better match. Fleur came highly recommended, but Olympe said that she was inseparable from her sister – it wasn't a deal breaker, but we are British."

"How much do you know about Hermione Granger?" queried McGonagall.

"What you have told me of course. "Exceptional student in my classes, diligent, driven, over achiever. Excellent hair." She tucked her wand behind her ear and folded her arms. "Olivander asked me for a reference before he accepted her for the Summer. On his recommendation, I have let her take Arboreal Herbology this year, although strictly speaking it's for sixth formers and upwards, Whomping Willow, dryads and all that stuff. He says that she is gifted and that the Guild would be interested in sponsoring her further studies."

"Or the Guild would be interested in studying her further. There hasn't been a female wand maker in forever."

Professor Sprout frowned, "sorry, I don't follow."

Professor McGonagall threw an arm about her colleagues shoulder, "how much do you know about vines."

Professor Sprout threw her head back and her laugh bounced off the exposed brickwork of the walls and the oddly curving roof, then said completely seriously, "how long have you got?"

"Perhaps I need to be more specific," replied McGonagall. "About Vines that make wands."

"They are banned, Minerva, you of all people should know."

A heavy silence fell between them.

"One chose Hermione. Severus says it's already sentient."

"Does she know what that means? Did he tell her about your…no he wouldn't I'm sure. What species?"

McGonagall mutely shook her head, "I don't know, I don't think so and I have no idea if it's the same. There's a small reference in 'Hogwarts, A History,' but everything else is in the restricted section, or your study. Dumbledore said that the Ministry extracted…"

Professor Sprout hawked and spat at the ground. "The Ministry couldn't find its arse with both hands. How do you find what you don't know hmmm? In a book perhaps? Ever see that girl without one? It's her bludgeon of choice for the two boys she shepherds, not that they appreciate her dedication to the task I'm sure." She laughed wryly. "Time and tide, Minerva," said Sprout briskly. "Hermione sent her first apprentice piece back this morning and Olivander sent another cube by return. I thought that was fast, but not if the Vine is helping her. Not if it's what I think it is."

Sprout hauled open the door and with it a gust of chill evening air invaded the cavernous interior. McGonagall stepped outside and waited for Sprout to refasten the door with a charm that made the woodwork shimmer and shift. A figure passed in the distance, outlined by moonlight. They both watched the square set of his shoulders disappear ahead of them on the path to the school. A deep red spot glowed briefly at head height before falling to the ground in a shower of sparks.

Sprout scratched her chin, "he's early, wonder why. Shouldn't be smoking in school grounds either, especially if he is not getting them from me," she tutted to herself.

"Will you warn Cedric?

Sprout peered at her colleague with a surprised air, "where's the challenge in that?"

0.0

Longbottom knocked timidly on Professor Snapes door. The inhabitants disinterested tone bid him enter and he shuffled inside. He was surprised to find Hermione leaning against one wall with her arms crossed and a look of determination on her face.

"Oh there you are, haven't seen Trevor have you?" Neville asked Hermione woefully.

Hermione shook her head impatiently. Snape raised his gaze to study Longbottoms attire. He gestured to the back of his study with a jerk of his head. "Barrel in the corner. Entrails on the left, skins on the right. Get on with it."

"Again, Miss Granger. See if you can get at the Potion reference in my head at the same time," Snape drawled, leaning forward to place his elbows on the desk and twirling his wand between his hands. Easily he broke through her defences, seeing once more his own face from her perspective when she realised that he had been dancing with her. The same scene played again and he grunted in boredom.

Neville tugged the lid off the barrel and whimpered.

"Dig in Mr Longbottom, I haven't got all night," snapped the Professor. "Pathetic Miss Granger, at least try and keep me out." He pinched his nose to ease a headache centred there, a bilious feeling rose with the additional smell of the barrel contents.

Hermione gripped her own arms above her elbows, the front cover of Crutchingtons Practical Potions swam into view and the number 893 flashed briefly before she was stunned by a torrent of visions that were not her own, racing through her mind. "I am," she whispered.

"And why exactly does the episode in the hallway fascinate you so much."

"I've never seen you enjoy anything before, you're a great dancer," she said softly, trying to make sense of black and white images played out, skipping frames. Snape twirling a blonde girl in a new dress under the Willow in the school grounds, he must have been Cedrics age or thereabouts. The girl pushing her hair over one shoulder and turning her back to him, clutching school robes to her chest. Large hands on her zipper. Her hand reaching behind to cover his, a vine bracelet around her wrist snaking out to circle his too. Her gaze steady as she let the robes fall. Hermione flushed, turning her face away from Snape, although the vision played on.

Neville sniffed loudly and gagged behind them, his knees bumping the sides of the barrel as he scooped out more of the contents. Out of the corner of her eye, Hermione saw him wipe his tongue on the shoulder of his robes. The uneven splatter of something large and solid followed by something smaller alternately hitting a tray filled the room with the cadence of an odd heartbeat.

"I loathe dancing," Snapes voice dripped with contempt, his stomach dropped with the remembrance of loss and it sharpened his tone. "Lets see if Cedric was adequate shall we?" he was rewarded with the replay slipping for a second. He found himself at one end of a long corridor with doorways at regular intervals either side, but the doors along it slammed shut one after the other. The vision jerked like a cloth pulled from a table and he was presented with his own face yet again.

Snape pulled back from his desk, gripping the ornate handle of his wand, "Show me," he demanded, redoubling his efforts and cursing the ache that was splitting his skull in two.

Cedrics amused expression overlaid his own, lively grey eyes and an appreciative grin, but the face was too small and looking away, too much distance and the wrong angle for a dance partner to have. Hermione growled angrily, Snape felt a sharp shove and his vision blackened for a moment. He offered a grim smile, revelling in the ability to taunt a student at their own behest.

"Again."

It was getting harder for him to access even the image of himself. He smiled to himself and goaded her further, just because the Forest games were not spoken of did not make them unknown and surely she knew Cedric was competing, which reminded him, he had places to be. Her reaction to the previous question walked the fine line between love and hate. Remembered jealousy made his tone take an edge of bitterness. "The Forest is a dangerous place this time of night," he said darkly. This time the shove was hard enough to made one end of his wand make contact with the desktop.

Hermiones jaw dropped at the sight of the girl in Snapes arms, relaxed in repose. Too relaxed. The girls lifeless hand dropped from an orb fixed to the tip of a wand, a wand where her other hand was trapped under Snapes own larger, fervent grasp.

He ran the rod through a closed fist, the ornate handle rasping harshly against his palm. Love had made him keep his wand, even after the deed, hate had cursed a gift that should have kept him safe his whole life, rendered useless by his own hand.

"Again," Snape spat, the pain in his skull was enough to make him want to chop his own head clean off.

This time the image of himself was that of his younger self, face etched with horror as reflected in an unseen persons eyes. Snape drew a shuddering breath, he remembered those eyes, eyes that had once looked upon him with kindness and he had dared to hope for more. He glanced at Hermiones wrist, the vines free end swayed under his gaze like a viper at the pipe and he had a sudden rush of hatred that Hermione might have shared his moment of weakness

"Vine!" whispered Hermione.

"Enough!" The chair he was using crashed to the floor with the urgency of his motion. "Out. Take Longbottom with you." Abruptly the pain in his head abated. Longbottom stumbled past the desk with his arms held away from his sides. He had rolled his sleeves up past his elbows, but was splattered in gore to the shoulder and a small amount of froth had collected on his chin.

Snape followed Longbottom wavering path. "Toads," Neville said weakly, "you made me disembowel toads." Whatever compassion Hermione might have felt was erased in that moment, more so when Snape leaned down to open a drawer in his desk and placed a petrified toad on his blotter.

"You should take better care of your Familiar," Snape hissed.

Neville snatched up the rigid beast and gingerly touched his tongue to its back. "Trevor!" he wailed, tripping over his own feet to get to the door. Hermione followed him without a word or backward glance.

As soon as the door closed behind them, Snape set a ward, took a deep breath and disapparated.

0.0

Neville slumped against the wall of the corridor, "you 'ave to 'elp me. I didn't finish the barrel and he'll make me do it if I melt another cauldron in Potions."

Hermione rested her hands on her hips, she felt strangely alive, twitchy in her own skin almost. It was getting late, but there was no chance of sleeping. She told herself it had nothing to do with someone proving themselves an idiot to another idiot, in front of a bunch of idiots. The mysteries of Snapes history feathered her memory – that and the familiar props and scenery of Snapes unguarded memories. She stuffed it behind a door in her mind and labelled it with a glyph of the Whomping Willow.

"Accio paper towels," Hermione said sternly, catching a pile of the neatly folded napkins as they dropped into existence. She scrubbed at the worst of the slime encrusting Nevilles arms, pulling a face and disappearing the soiled results in rapid succession. Neville stood meekly under her ministrations, swapping his rigid toad from hand to hand whilst she worked around him.

"Get Trevor to McGonagall before he dries out and meet me in the Prefects bathroom on the Fifth Floor. No-one will be using it this time of night and if you are going to set yourself alight, we had better have some water handy."

She stood back and eyed her handiwork. She could always get him to shower before she started working with him. Nevilles mournful face made her want to shake him, why wasn't he moving already?

"Now?" she prompted him, gritting her teeth at how unfeeling it sounded. Ginny could do sympathetic, when she tried it herself it always came out directive. Neville nodded miserably and teetered off, she watched him until he was swallowed by the shadows.

The vine tickled her wrist, bifurcating itself many times and winding around each and every digit of her wand hand until it looked like a glove. She wondered how many toads Neville had licked and how he was keeping his eyeballs straight.

"This is new," she said to the Vine, wriggling her fingers. It gave her a gentle squeeze in return. She smiled in appreciation and made for the staircase thinking that now might be just the time to practise going up by making the stair treads move themselves like a Muggle escalator.

0.0

Cedric let himself back into the school via the underground passage way that led to the Hufflepuff common room, the entrance this way was guarded by a honey badger and he was extremely careful with the manner in which he extended his hand into a painting of a semi-arid landscape with a stand of saplings, grown up either side of a the rotting trunk of a much larger, fallen comrade. The door swung open silently and he passed through into the darkness beyond.

He scraped his hand through his hair and then sniffed it delicately, he reeked of cigarette smoke and his clothes grated against the rime of dirt coating his torso. What he could really do with now he thought, was a shower. He wondered what it would take for the girl in the glass to join him.

A/N If the shoe fits, buy it in every colour.

There really is a rhubarb triangle

Some toads exude toxins through their skin under stress, this explains why kissing them can make you see princes.

Honey badgers are technically polecats, I know. They are also the meanest mf out there, so appropriate, no?

Thank you for reading.

Psst I turned off the login until the weekend. If you are so inclined to review, fill your boots.


	10. Chapter 10

A/N JK Rowling gave us the Prefects Bathroom. I give you Neville on toad venom Cedric with a Mohican. Resistance is futile.

Hermione gave up on trying to get the stairs to move and stomped up them instead, the trouble was that she was too wired to concentrate enough to get a grip on the whole flight of stairs and the best she could do was make a single tread lift. It would clearly take longer than she had, this time around. When she reached the top and just to be sure that she was going to be ok with Neville, she held up a thumb in the darkness.

"_incendio," _she muttered.

A roaring blue flame shot from the tip of her thumb and she shook it frantically until it calmed to its wobbly yellow cousin. She used it to light her path, coaxing it back to an inferno and then finally extinguishing it at the door of the bathroom. Perfect. Pushing open the door, she stepped inside and paused.

"Nev?" oil lamps around the walls lit themselves and the mermaid in the arched window in the far wall coloured herself in and stretched languorously.

"Neville? Hermione tapped her foot in annoyance. The mermaid inspected the ends of her hair and smiled winsomely. Hermione walked over. "Have you seen him? A boy about this big, dark hair, dilated pupils?" she held a hand up to indicate height, but the figure shook her head and pouted, then beckoned Hermione to come closer. Would she speak? Hermione wasn't sure.

Moaning Myrtle sank through the ceiling and hovered at Hermiones side, "he's not been here, I've been waiting…." she said and ended with an odd squeaky chuckle, "and waiting," she repeated batting her eye-lashes and sighing heavily before sinking through the floor. The mermaid nodded in agreement and leaned forward. Hermione jumped at the cool touch of fingers on the back of her hand where the mermaid has reached out for her from the glass. The mermaid tilted her head and smiled again, guiding Hermiones hand up her glass front.

0.0

"He'll be all right, he'll be all right," Neville gasped to himself as he rushed from the Professors study to the foot of the stairwell. The Professor had been quite understanding, if a little distracted and he hoped desperately that he had been addressing the right one. Now that he knew his toad would be fine, he couldn't imagine anything worse than having to reach the bottom of the barrel in Snapes study, although setting fire to Hermione by accident might run a close second. There was something harder and unforgiving about her more recently and she frightened him in a way that he was ashamed to admit, excited him.

Neville was so lost in his own thoughts that he caromed off a figure moving silently through the shadowed hallways so hard that he landed flat on his back and his ears rang. His wand toppled uselessly from his hand when he jarred his elbow as he fell and spidery pain scrambled up his forearm. He slapped a hand across his eyes just in case there really were spiders and peered out through his fingers. When none appeared, he painfully cradled his arm close to his chest and scooted across the floor until his back was against the wall. Frantically he stared about him for the obstacle he had hit, but there was nothing obvious, the hallucinations must be getting worse.

"You're out of bed late Nev," Cedrics voice came from the dark. Metal scraped, something hissed and a smoky, yellow flame illuminated the bottom half of Cedrics face. "Not that I don't approve," Cedric continued with amusement in his voice, "coming or going?"

In Nevilles befuddled state, both options sounded the same. "I have to get back, she's waiting for me," he said urgently. The thought of Hermione being angry with him made his collar tight.

"You don't look like you're in much of a state to be doing anything but heading for bed, Nev." Cedric watched with interested eyes as Neville staggered to his feet and retrieved his wand. He certainly looked as if had been shagged seven ways from Sunday.

"I've left her in the Prefects bathroom," Neville tried to explain, spinning on the spot as it appeared that Cedrics fanned out to surround him.

"Tell you what," Cedric said expansively, "I'll pop by and let her know that you'll reschedule." He was going to hit the bathroom anyway and this way it sounded like he might get more than he bargained for. Cedric turned Neville away from one staircase to another that led to the Gryffindors common room and gave him a little shove.

"You don't understand!" wailed Neville, "she was going to teach me control."

"Mmhm," agreed Cedric. "She who?" Better and better, he had no trouble with being schooled himself as long as turn and turn about was fair play.

Cedric tripped over the first stair, Nevilles reply was the second time he had heard her name tonight.

0.0

Cedric pushed open the bathroom door gently, he knew who he would find, just not in what context and the centaurs liquor made his blood hum in his ears. What he did not expect to see was Hermione fondling a mermaid. He almost dropped the parcel of clothing he was carrying in surprise.

He cleared his throat delicately and promised himself he would save the look on her face in whatever media it allowed.

Hermione flinched away from the window, shock made her question sound harsh, "what are you doing here?"

"Me?" Cedric smiled wolfishly and sauntered forward. "Prefect?" he gestured to himself and ended with a sweeping gesture. "Prefects bathroom. You?" He tried to see her presence in the light of Nevilles comments and then tried very hard to see past it without imagining her in thigh high boots.

"I have an arrangement with Neville, not that it's any of your business," she replied archly and folding her arms. Her eyes flicked over him without her permission. Nothing broken, no blood, dirty though and his hair looked like he had been dragged through a hedge backwards. Her shoulders dropped a fraction. Bastard.

"With Neville? Huh. He did mention something about that, but he's not coming." Cedric pursed his lips. Not the boots, not the boots. "You might want to move away from the window, _Kit_."

The mermaid was leaning forward, there was enough of a gap between the window and Hermione, but only barely. Cedric waved his quidditch jersey to distract the threat. Whilst he was happy to live life on the edge, he found himself strangely reluctant to allow Hermione the same liberties he took for granted. He told himself he was older, wiser and there were reasons, other than purely snob value, that the bathroom was restricted.

"He'll be here," Hermione insisted, stepping forward.

Cedric sighed in relief and the mermaid mirrored it with her own strange isobue. "I told him not to." Cedric shrugged and turned towards the sinks leaning into the mirror to watch Hermiones reflection loom larger.

"You did what?" Hermione spat out.

"You're only a Fourth year. You shouldn't be tutoring anyone without supervision," he smiled at her furious reflection, but it did nothing to take the sting out of it.

"He needs my help!" said Hermione aghast. "Did he tell you what Snape did?"

"Snape eh?" Cedric gritted his teeth and turned to face her. "He's becoming your regular go to. You should change Houses." His irritation with the referee incident bled through his tone.

"It's not like that….the Professor was helping me and Neville had detention." Hermione sounded whiney, even to her own ears.

"Snape doesn't help just anyone, there is always something in it for him. What would he want from you?" Cedric reached over his shoulders to grasp his hoodie and tugged it off over his head.

"Nothing." Try as she might, Hermione couldn't help inspecting his dorsal musculature in the mirror. Smudges of dirt decorated one shoulder, but other than that, he was completely unscathed. She should be happy, could be, but rage had a better fit and more temperatures to choose from. Normally she would have a book to tattoo her emotion, her empty hands squeezed themselves sore.

"Nothing?" Cedrics drawled, his hands moving to his pants waistline. He could see plenty. With or without boots.

"What are you doing?" Hermione tried to focus on a point just past his shoulder. It wasn't working, mostly because whatever he was doing was making the reflection of his back flex in new and interesting ways. And actually she knew what he was doing. She knew what male parts looked like anatomically speaking and had several colourful conversations overheard in the common room that described Cedric intimately to draw from, then of course there was the incident on the train, but none of those seemed to count in this instant. It wasn't like she wanted to get near it or anything, she just wanted to _know_. Right after she finished berating Cedric about screwing over Neville.

"Isn't it obvious? This _is_ a bathroom, _Kit_." He loved the way the nickname made her scowl. The corner of his mouth fought a losing battle with a sly grin.

"Stop saying that, doing that," she huffed and then in exasperation as the clasp of his belt parted company with the leather tongue. "I'm talking to you!" She grabbed his wrists to make her point.

His lips curved in a slow smile. "Carry on," he said merrily and let go of his waistband. She wasn't sure how long it took for the material to slide down his legs, only that it was long enough for the Vine on her wand to sneak out and circle his wrist before the quiet clink of the belt buckle sounded against the floor tile.

She focused on the Vine and grabbed the trailing end before it could complete a circuit over her own wrist, unwinding it from him with a rising tide of irritation that turned to embarrassment when her peripheral view registered that today of all days, Calvin was missing. She spun away as he stepped out of the puddle of his clothing with lithe movements and clapped her hands over eyes, trying to wipe out the thought that the subject of her closet fascination might have nodded 'hello.' Mollys voice saying 'last turkey in the shop' sprang to mind, she pushed it away to deal with her unruly equipment.

"_Will_ you behave!" she hissed at her wand.

The sound of the door of the shower stall punctured the silence. The roar of water almost drowned out his groan of appreciation. Almost, but not quite.

"So you're talking to it now?" Cedric asked curiously.

Now that they were safely separated, Hermione replied acidly. "We were talking about Neville."

"Oh, that's good," he moaned. He leaned against the tiled wall, angling so that the scorching water hit him between the shoulder blades. Trickles of water running down his front followed gravitys urging and fell in a steady stream that made it look like he was peeing pure water. Something thumped the shower stall door, making the reeded glass shake and he turned his back.

"Are you even listening to me?" Hermione, still mad was almost too much fun.

"Oh yeah." Reaching for the shampoo, he combed his hair into a mohican with his fingers.

The bathroom door slammed and Cedric relaxed into the hot downpour and let his mind go blank, but something was niggling at the back of his mind. Not Neville, not even that Hermione almost got dragged off to the Black Lake, but that perhaps he was not yet alone. He ducked his head into the water and finished washing his hair with vigorous strokes, shaking his head like a dog.

"I won," he called out. "Thanks for asking…"

The water in the shower stopped abruptly and he made the mistake of looking directly at the shower head in confusion, just in time for the water to start pouring again with renewed vigour, full in the face and freezing cold.

"Kit!" he howled, throwing himself at the shower stall door with no thought for modesty. The steamy room was empty and the mermaid had faded to clear segments of glass. Water pooled around his feet as the faint movement of the bathroom door caught his eye. Hermione was gone. So too, was his quidditch jersey.

Cedric towelled himself dry, only then noticing the scrubbed out remains of something outlined in the condensation on the mirror glass. It looked a lot like a stick man with a Mohawk and an enormous third leg. There was always tomorrow, tomorrow when he would put his name in the Goblet of Fire for a chance of winning the ultimate accolade. It was odd that he was looking forward to Hermiones reaction to the news almost as much as entering itself. Tomorrow, when, they would again partner for the Transfiguration lesson.

0.0

Hermione swung by the study carrel on the way back to the Gryffindor common room to collect Howarths Insectology to calm her nerves and indulge in a little late night reading. She had already pulled the book from its resting place when something white caught her attention. She stared at the small white sock with a tell-tale bulge in the toe for some time before removing it from its prominent position. She half expected Cedrics timetable to be in the toe, but it wasn't. Cautiously she rolled the cuff of the sock down, taking infinite care not to touch the contents, until the rounded surface of the orb appeared. Against the white of the sock, the orb appeared to have a yellowish cast that was not evident before, it reminded her of gloss paint in a smokers household and she wondered if the orb was somehow aging. Cedric might have more information about the orbs history, she had never thought to ask the detail of Madame Trelawneys musings.

"Where are you?" she whispered. A flurry in the flakes of snow was her only reply. She peered deeper at the interior of the glass. A plain of flat snow covered the bottom of the sphere, except where it was interrupted by animal tracks. She secured the orb again and nosed through Cedrics papers looking for his timetable.

"Bloody Hell!" she swore to herself when it became evident that the timetable was missing.

Shortly afterwards, she pulled a second book, an old favourite, from the shelves, topped it off with 'Applied Arboreal Physiology' by Lwellan Dowd which seemed to have been left by Professor Sprout if the muddy fingerprints all over the dust jacket were anything to go by and made her way to bed.

0.0

Hermione sat in the nave of the Great Hall shortly after breakfast, peacefully annotating the opening pages of AAP with the additional information from her time with Olivander.

"Alder," she muttered to herself, absorbing the species ability to naturalise alongside streams, suffer temporary flooding and successfully restore soil fertility. The next part was more interesting:

_Transcends the natural barriers of the elements, serving all four, air, earth, fire and water. Muggle uses: charcoal, panpipes/whistles, dyes, land reclamation. Wands best used for healing charms, in times of conflict performs well in defence._

She added notes about the sap in the green wood staining just about anything and the odd quality of the wood hardening in water rather than decaying, the later making better wand material albeit less flexible and harder to work. An illustration on the opposite page, of a seed cracking into two and sending up a leaf, grew into an entire tree before Hermione skipped to the next subject.

"Ash," Hermione said aloud. She got as far as the seed pods being known colloquially as 'keys' before her equilibrium was disturbed.

As if called, the riot that was Cedric and his entourage rolled up to the Goblet of Fire, his colleagues pushed him forward, but there didn't seem to be a whole lot of resisting on his part, she thought, although he did seem to stop short when he caught sight of her. For a minute she thought he might have changed his mind, but it seemed it was just making sure that he had her full attention. She held his gaze when he dropped his name casually into the flames, he was behaving like it was one huge dare, for a moment she forced him into the same stupidity bucket that she categorised Ron in. Her book shut with a snap and she clutched it to her chest like a heavy shield. If she used it aggressively, it would definitely leave a mark.

The appearance of the boy from Durmstrang brushing past Cedric raised her spirits, he had promised to translate some of her Bavarian book where English terms were missing or simply made no sense and she smiled at the prospect. For some reason, it didn't trouble her at all that Viktor was competing. She looked down at silvering on the edges of the pages of the book in her lap and only then realised that someone had turned down a corner of a page. It was most untoward, especially if it had been the Professor. Hermione sighed and put it away for later, there were mysteries enough already and it was barely 8 a.m.

Viktor dropped his scrap of parchment into the fire and turned to greet Hermione, only to find his path blocked.

"I don't believe we've met," Cedric began and offered his hand. Viktor returned a firm handshake, in response to a grip that bordered on too firm. Hermione watched while neither of them let go for the longest time, it was kind of hot. Wrong, but hot.

Hermione rose and pushed between them. "Viktor, we don't have much time."

Viktor released his grip, but had to wait for Cedric to do the same before he could move away comfortably.

"Excuse," Viktor bowed his head. "I hav a lady vaiting."

"Indeed," said Cedric softly. It didn't quite sound like an insult, but it wasn't far off. Hermione shoved him backwards.

"We're busy and you owe me a timetable," she growled. Cedric retreated a step.

"Did you take my shirt? You know, from last night," he teased, backing up, holding his hands palm forward defensively. "It's fine, but you know, asking is kind of customary…"

Her colouring told him he was right despite her best efforts to project innocent aloofness. The armpits had been gross, but the front of the collar still carried a trace of his cologne and she had filled her lungs with the scent of it, just once.

Viktor glanced between them and stared awkwardly at his own feet scuffing the flagstones.

"The little guy said it was nice to meet you too…" Hermione dragged Viktor away to the Library.

"'Ermine can explain..?" Viktor started.

"No," she said shortly, collapsing onto a bench seat and patting the space beside her. There was no way that she was going to explain an opposition jersey under her pillow or why Cedric was being so possessive around her, or why she kind of liked it. Up to a point. And she could do without the public humiliation and had a hard time owning up to any of it being her fault. Much. She dragged the book with the double headed eagle sigil on the cover from her bag and placed in front of Viktor. Impatiently she flipped past the opening chapters.

The page now open showed a series of tools and names in Bavarian written underneath, but there were no translations. Viktor smiled broadly and reached for a quill before scrunching up his face in concentration. He put his thumb in place to save the page and redisplayed the cover, pointing to the open hand symbol. "You make?"

"Err maybe?" Hermione replied, then said very earnestly, "I'm keeping my options open."

"Should study Bavarrrria," Viktor rolled the name of his home country around like a pirate and brandished his Gregorovitch. "Is best," he declared proudly.

"May I?" Hermione hedged, gesturing to Viktors wand. "While you are working on the book?"

Viktor smiled so widely she could see that he was missing a wisdom tooth on his upper right hand side. He handed Hermione the wand butt first and she grasped it gingerly, then ran her thumb over the knuckle of the join between the butt and the rod of the wand. Viktor flipped the book open again and tried to hide a shudder. He tapped the open page.

"Vor jewel, precious, make errr," Viktor stuttered with difficulty of moulding his ideas in a foreign language. He pulled a brooch of a silver double-headed eagle with a precious stone set in its tummy from beneath his robes and tapped the milky stone. "Anbar," he said. Hermione squinted at him, trying to understand what he was getting at when he repeated the word louder and balanced a closed fist on his forefinger. "Vizard 'ave, he said, then sketched something that looked just like a penis.

0.0

Something was going on, Hermione swore it. She got kicked into Year 6 for Arithmancy and Runes, the former she could just about keep up with but Runic grammar drove her nuts. She was only in Year 4 Foretelling to keep the boys company and to stop Professor Trelawney from picking on Harry.

"I'm not playing any more," Ron said grumpily and uncurled his fist from 'rock'. He was sat opposite Hermione in the stuffy tower that Professor Trelawney called home.

Hermione rolled her eyes, "come ON Ron! It's not a game, it's supposed to be an exercise." She curled her flat hand out of 'paper' and into a fist, and knocked it twice on the table but resisted a third when Ron made no move.

"An exercise you keep winning," he said petulantly.

"Ok," Hermione sighed. "We can add Spock and Lizard."

"Now you're making it up." Ron put his head on one side and said abruptly, "I'm going to play with Harry. 'Ere, did you know Flitwick is taking us for Potions today?" Hermione stared into one of the dribbly candles in the wall scones, they were completely unnecessary since it was still daylight outside. When she blinked, the negative of the bright flame looked like a scarecrow figure reaching forward, as if to open a door.

"Where's Snape?" called Neville joyfully.

Without thinking, Hermione replied, "Diagon Alley." Even Trelawney stared at that one.

0.0

Hermione approached Year 6 Transfiguration with an equal quail of trepidation and frisson of anticipated enjoyment. She made her way cautiously down the steep bank that led to the sunken kitchen garden and sighed, being first to arrive was always strangely calming. She wandered in through a square oak door cracked open in the stone wall and perched on a stone toadstool to wait for the rest of the class. Mulling over the homework, she considered what todays class might be. It had featured heavily on native insect life and reinforced how much of a witch or wizards magical larder came from the world about them.

The pair from the failed wand matching were next to arrive, the girl nodded at her and turned away, rummaging in her bag for something whilst the blonde boy wandered over to stand in front of Hermione.

Professor McGonagall was next to arrive, trailed by Cedric carrying a small cardboard box which he stowed carefully on a bench before making his way briskly to Hermiones side.

"Tomas?" Cedric greeted, offering the knuckles of a closed fist in welcome.

"'Ermione?" replied Tomas, more to Cedric than Hermione herself and knocking his fist with his own. Cedric gaze flicked between the two of them for a moment, which was as long as it took for Hermione to register that what was happening was about the level of dogs and lampposts. She rolled her eyes and rose to her feet between them. Pointedly turning her back on Cedric, she offered her hand to Tomas.

"Hermione," she stated, emphasising the 'H', then squirmed inwardly as he shook her hand, but his thumb brushed oddly over the inside of her wrist. She smiled coolly and wrenched her hand away, knocking an elbow into Cedrics midriff in her haste. He caught her upper arm gripping too hard just above the elbow and held on to it like he thought she might accost his colleague with her fists. With a gasping breath he murmured in a warning tone, "easy" into her hair.

Tomas grinned at Cedric like he had won something huge and sauntered back to the raven haired girl, now shoulder deep in her bottomless bag.

Cedric pulled Hermione away so that they were separated from the growing knot of students, dropping her arm as soon as there was a degree of distance between them and the others. "Keep your temper, keep your head," he admonished.

"Keep your hands off me," she spat back.

"He was courting you, not trying to offend you." Cedric tried to explain. He caught at her hand with the wand up its sleeve, about to say something more when Hermione interrupted. She ripped her hand free.

"You're my mentor, not my minder," she sneered.

"I'll get in line shall I?" he said sardonically flicking his fingers in turn. "Snape, Viktor, now Tomas. Did I miss Ron, I'm sure he thinks he has a chance. Tomas was offering in case you missed it with your nose in the air, rumour has it he's quite good. Not as good as me," he shrugged, looking away. It was as close to an admission as his pride would allow. He snorted at her shocked expression.

"Now, lets get on shall we?" He circled around her adding, "and keep your wits about you, this isn't the fourth year you are dealing with here. Everything is a test," before he joined the students clustered around Professor McGonagall fiddling with the box. Hermione blinked away the burn in her eyes and reluctantly joined the group when she realised that the Professor was speaking in hushed tones and she couldn't hear from where she was. Her head was in turmoil, did Cedric mean what she thought he meant, or was this too a test?

As soon she drew level with him, Cedric stepped back and encouraged her into the space in front of him so that she could see. He hovered his hands over her shoulders until she gave him a backwards glare. He planted them firmly on her shoulders and she left them there, instantly caught up in the Professors instruction.

Even at a low volume, the Professors voice was forceful. "…required reading from last time. The scales from the wings of this Hawkmoth are a basic store cupboard ingredient. We will be topping up the schools supplies and using the collection as a valuable training aid."

"Professor Sprout has been nurturing the larvae in the Subterranean Tropical Greenhouse." Strong thumbs niggled at the knots in her shoulders. She bit her lip to stop herself groaning, but wasn't completely sure that she was successful since McGonagall left a peculiarly significant pause before continuing. Hermione filled it by scraping the heel of her shoe over Cedrics instep. He grunted, but didn't stop, his thumbs moved to the base of her neck. "Which means these particular creatures are not as you would find them in the natural world." She handed out small silver containers no bigger than a thimble and with a snugly fitting hinged lid.

"Are we all here?" The Professor turned and did a swift headcount. She used a flick of her wand to slam shut the wooden door in the wall and passed her wand overhead. A billowing cloud settled over the garden, peaked in the centre like a bed canopy and sealed itself along the upper edges of the walled enclosure. The box lid jumped, giving everyone a fright. A nervous titter spread through the group.

"And since this is Transfiguration, the requirements are also as follows." She drew a tortoisehell coloured hair shot through with silver from her own tightly wound bun and looped it loosely around her finger. Under the students rapt attention, the hair elongated and wove itself into a net around the tip of the Professors wand. "_Engorgio," _uttered the Professor and the net trebled in size and cast itself free from her wand, moving in the air as she moved her wand.

"Cedric," she called. "Just one."

He moved to the bench and put his hand into the box, pulling out what looked like a scarlet pellet the size of his thumb and placed it in the palm of his hand. It jerked and rolled itself onto one rounded end and Hermione could see that it was segmented crosswise all but half the way down its length and tipped with black.

"Now!" said the Professor and Cedric tossed it into the air where the pellet flew straight up, turning end over end. As it reached the apogee of its flight, the cocoon split open and first one then four wings flicked open, the two upper wings of the moth a glossy blue-black and the smaller bottom pair a sulphurous yellow either side of a mottled body. The remains of the spent cocoon dropped away as the moth took flight, immediately on the wing, unlike their usual counterparts who would need to bask to dry their wings before they could fly.

"You will be required to fly the net in tandem," called the Professor, guiding the net with her wand after the rapidly moving beast. "There will be distractions, as in real life to make the task more _interesting_." From her tone, Hermione thought that meant more interesting for the Professor to observe her students making idiots of themselves, than for the benefit of the students alone.

The Professor made it look effortless as the net chased and then encircled its fluttering prey. As the mouth of the net closed, the moth squeaked its fury and the net descended gently to settle on the Professor outstretched hand. Grasping the little furry body of the insect with one hand through the net, the students jostled for the best viewing position as the Professor allowed the net casting to fall away and used a tiny paintbrush to sweep shimmering wing scales into a hovering thimble.

"There," she announced , when the thimble was half full. She tossed the shrilly protesting moth back into the air. "Ready class?" There was a general shifting of unease as the box lid jumped again.

"Cedric," prodded the Professor and he stepped forward, grasping the box with both hands he slipped off the lid and launched the contents into the air. Spent cocoons rained on upturned faces and the silvery grey of the net roof was dotted with flickering shapes.

He plucked a hair from Hermiones head on his return and before she could raise a hand to her head and expel the word 'ow' he had it looped around the end of his finger.

"Make the net," he demanded. She gritted her teeth and spun the hair like a miniature lobster basket.

"Good shape," he encouraged, "now.."

"I know!" she snapped out, concentrating on enlarging the wispy structure without breaking the flimsy filaments. He quirked a small smile and took to studying the prey flitting darkly overhead. One of the pairs of students had a net in the air already, but was having trouble controlling its trajectory amongst the madly fluttering moths.

"Make the bottom strong enough to carry a raindrop," he muttered randomly. With a question rising, she gritted her teeth at the sight of him lost in thought and wove an area the size of her thumbnail more thickly.

"Done," she pronounced, trying to keep her tone even.

"Put a drop of honey inside on that bit," he said thoughtfully, not taking his eyes from the shapes above. Clarity appeared in Hermiones expression and a passage from the book she had immersed herself in last night wrote itself across the back of her eyelids, '…_Deathshead Hawkmoth raids honeybee colonies and sucks the honey direct from the comb.'_

She settled the net on one hand and inserted the tip of her wand into it, pointing it at the little platform. "_Melia,"_ she whispered and allowed herself a small smile when a sticky yellow drop oozed into being and dripped onto the net.

"You will need her help for this," Professor McGonagalls clipped tone drew Hermiones attention. "It's quite a feat, even for a sixth year as talented as you are. Hermione couldn't tell if she was actually praising Cedric or being sarcastic, the tone was quite ambivalent.

"She'll be fine," said Cedric, still distracted with the dance overhead. He broke his study for a moment to lock eyes with the Professor. "That was a little underhand wasn't it?" he said quietly, jerking his chin towards the moths, "only taking one on in the demonstration?"

"Alls fair," retorted the Professor, tucking away a small smile. Above them the moths worked in pairs against the threat and against the students best endeavours, one acted as a lure whilst the other ripped the nets to shreds with tiny claws. Their classmates dismayed cries were as anxious as they were frequent, panic was rising amongst the group like a tidal wave.

Cedric moved so that he stood behind Hermione and offered his left hand palm uppermost and fingers splayed. "Hand," he prompted when she made no move. "You caught up with the reading right?" he queried, "about working in tandem? One party maintaining a conjure and the other controlling its movements." His chest bumped her shoulders as he cast his gaze heavenwards again. "C'mon, c'mon," he snapped his fingers irritably, "I'll maintain the net, it's harder at a distance. We're running out of time."

She tossed the net into the air, slapping her hand palm downward onto his and was startled at the ferocity with which his fingers gripped hers. "Draw from me," he urged as the net sank, despite her wands upward motion, "it's heavier than it looks with the airs resistance through the mesh." Again she tried and again it sank further.

"Fricking amateurs," he growled as more nets were destroyed above them and the moths became more bold. They dropped closer to the students to pick unfinished nets from the air.

"What's happening?" she asked, trying to understand his fragmented clues.

"The biological imperative and we are getting in the way," he muttered, tension thrumming through their connection. "There were queens _and_ drones released. For fucks sake," he paused mid-rant, checking himself, "concentrate."

"Please?" he whispered right beside her ear, loosening his fingers and slipping them back and forth between hers. A spark leapt between their joined hands and she jumped at the snap of electricity. The net shot into the air.

"Again," he crooned and she closed her fingers around his hand and dragged magic forcefully from his body with her mind. He bumped incautiously against her and croaked, "good…maybe a little less if you could manage it…" Hermione reduced the pull to a trickle and then a drip as the net continued to climb.

"Which one? Pair," she corrected, trying to quell the giddy feeling rushing through her and climbing the net so that it drifted above the cloud of insects.

His voice was strained, when it came. "Left a bit, swing left, target the pair with a more silvery marking. Drift it in, then away, keep doing it until they smell the honey and follow."

Sure enough she lured the pair to the edge and then away from the crowd just as a mini earthquake appeared to target the kitchen garden. The pair of students furthest from them teetered and fell in a pile of limbs when the stone wall behind them wobbled and collapsed over the top over them.

"Whats…?" started Hermione

"McGonagall," grunted Cedric, "having a little fun. Don't look down." When she moved her chin a fraction, he clutched painfully at her hand, making her gasp. "Just don't!" He shifted his body closer so she could feel him all the way up her back. "Concentrate," he purred into her ear. "Only on what you can trust." She blinked rapidly, the fluttering insects becoming negatives on the insides of her eyelids, moving Rorschach images that appeared clearer with her eyes shut. She could feel the rise and fall of his breathing through her clothing and her dry tongue glued itself to the roof of her mouth.

"Use your own fucking eyes," he grunted and Hermione startled.

She forced her eyes open, the light looked to be falling around them and she squinted where she thought the moths and the net were. She closed one eye, it was easier to see the net than the target, she just had to trust that the moths were still following. Another yard and they would be down to head height. A second pair of students collapsed in a heap, followed by a third when the earth rippled like an aired duvet, leaving them and another pairing still on their feet.

"Geez he's good," muttered Cedric.

"Who?" she whispered, dragging the net closer.

"Tomas. His partner is out of her head, he's doing it all. Don't bloody look," he snapped as she twitched her head in their direction. She drew in a harsh breath as the net became heavier.

"They're almost in," he encouraged softly, "the female is in, the male will follow her, whatever happens now, keep the net steady." His hand shook under hers.

"I can barely see it," she admitted, flinching as something small caught her a glancing blow on her cheekbone. He shuffled them a quarter turn away from the direction of the missile.

"That you're even still standing is pretty amazing," he praised. A prickle of unease rippled across her shoulders. As if he could feel her faltering, his feet shifted either side to enclose hers and he rested his left arm more heavily against her. "Only what you can trust," he murmured, "trust me," he insisted. A loud crack sounded and Cedric groaned, "Tomas," under his breath. His right hand came up to weigh heavy on her shoulder, then slipped diagonally across the front of her body, palm out. "I'm closing the net…..now!" Her wand drooped with sudden extra weight, then jerked up suddenly relieved of its burden as he caught at something with his right hand. "Got it!" he crowed. Hermione felt the surge in his emotions rip through their bond, like being drunk on success, just as she also felt the ground drop away under her.

Her knees buckled briefly and Cedric swore vehemently, staggering trying to support her weight without dropping the net. "It's not real! It's McGonagall fucking with your head," he said angrily.

"I know!" she snipped back, she shook her head trying to gather her scattered wits and clutching at the senses that registered him connected to two thirds of her body, suddenly realising why he had felt like a human blanket. He was trying to shield her senses from the effects of what was happening around them. She got her feet under her, still braced against him. He was everywhere, tensed and hot through layers of clothing. Anger burned into something else entirely.

She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, her body taking note of the negative space and brushing more firmly against him with a rocking motion that made them both sway. His face tucked closer in behind her ear and the arm across her front tightened possessively.

"Nnnhhh," sounded against her skin so strongly that she could feel the vibrations. She shivered against him and sank her nails into the back of his left hand.

"Witch," he groaned as she scraped against his body again. "Drop the bond, it's not for…nnnhh."

She wasn't taking anything from him, but couldn't explain to herself why she didn't want to let go. Something warm was coursing up her arm on the inside and it felt delicious combined with him hunched against the back of her. Moths took up residence in her stomach. Unbidden, her wand hand rose and twisted behind his neck, dragging his face closer to hers.

"What are you?" he rasped, rubbing the hinge of his jaw against her neck whilst something slipped pleasantly against the grain of the short hairs at the back of his neck. His teeth nipped at her ear lobe and made her jerk away, trembling. This wasn't supposed to happen.

"You need to get the container…" she shook his left hand free of hers and they both winced at the snap of the magical recoil.

"Owshit," he winced, flapping his hand, before cramming it into a pocket and extracted the lidded thimble. She studied his face, was all of it an illusion? Eliciting that reaction from him had felt heady and kind of addictive. His eyes were narrowed and looking anywhere but her, his colour was too high, even for him and he wet his lips too often for it to be accidental. She stowed her wand and tucked her smarting hand under the opposite armpit.

"Hold the male," he directed huskily, "with the longer thinner body." He cleared his throat and allowed the net weaving to fail. As the female fluttered free piping shrilly, the male began to struggle, making clicking noises like a demented dog trainer. Cedric methodically swept scales into the canister, finally snapping the lid shut, he jerked his chin at her and she let go.

He reached for her left hand and closed her fist around the silver thimble, then enclosed her fist in both of his much larger hands.

"Look at me," he ground out. She met his gaze with a studied air of indifference that wavered when it met his pained expression.

"It's not over yet and I need to leave you…" He turned and left her with the question, "I have to help Tomas….think about what is real?" ringing in her ears.

Professor McGonagall sidled up beside her and held out her hand for the container. Hermione studied her carefully before walking straight through her image and taking a seat on a wooden bench next to a tabby cat improbably sunning itself under a single ray of sunlight. A scarlet pyramid of the spent cocoons was piled directly under where it lay. She placed the thimble under the felines disinterested nose.

"Very good," the Professors raspy voice pierced the air and the cat shimmered into a womans proportions. "I think we are almost ready for the last part!" Hermione watched Cedric stride over to Tomas and crouch beside him, he was down but not out it seems.

"He should have dropped the bond when she passed out," the Professor explained. "They are still connected and her mind is wide open." Terse words were exchanged and Cedric tugged at Tomas' hand joined with the unconscious girl.

"Not sure whether he is shielding her or raiding," the Professor stated matter of factly. "Trust is both a gift and a burden. I hope you have learnt at least that today." Hermione flushed hotly. Although they had been turned away, it can't have been too hard for the Professor to have understood what was happening. Hermione made a non-committal noise.

Tomas gripped Cedrics pant leg and shook his head. Whatever Cedric was suggesting, Tomas didn't want any part of. With no warning, Cedric clipped him with a right hook under the jaw that laid him out cold, then squatted to pull their unprotesting hands apart.

"Excellent choice," the Professor clapped her hands like a small child. "Now then," she began as Cedric approached within earshot. "Stun all of the moths, individually if you can. Consider it target practice." Cedric locked his jaw and jerked his gaze upwards. Hermione shivered at his cold expression, his barred teeth showed briefly, then he started picking them off. Magic arced like wildfire from his wand tip in infinitely small bursts.

"You too dear," McGonagall pushed her forwards. Hermione tried to work out how much energy it would take to knock an insect out of the air without actually killing it, whilst she watched Cedric methodically decimate the shifting cloud above them. Small furry bodies dropped steadily, whirling like sycamore seeds around her. She took a deep breath, squashed the pathetic part of her that wanted to run and never come back, buried the bit that wanted Cedric to see how good she was and took aim.

0.0

A/N An isobue is the sound Ama divers make hyperventilating after free diving, it is also called the sigh of the sea

Venice is built on pilings made of Alder wood

Anbar is the old word for Amber, it comes in just about every colour under the sun

There are World Contests for Scissor, paper, stone. The Spock and Lizard variants have been around since 2005 and are not allowed in the contest.

Hello to all you old hands and welcome new readers. There must be some serious fic diving going on. If you are getting this recommended to you, please let me know so that I can stop by and say are you nuts? thank you.


	11. Chapter 11

A/N So FFn has been having a bit of a clear out of 'M' rated stories. If this disappears, it might be down to this chapter. If your Mother would ground you for reading this material, I can't stop you, but in the same way that you are responsible for what goes in your mouth, you are also responsible for what goes in your brain – directly – via your eyeballs. 'Nuff said.

JK Rowling made Hermione too young in Cedrics time. Personally, I think it was deliberate, gawd I love fanfiction. You know that Meg Ryan film where one of her co-stars says, "I'll have what she's having" – if you feel the same way after reading this chapter, put it behind the big blue button at the bottom. For the record, a tongue stud can really mess up your orthodontics… j/s

0.0

"I require a short leave of absence," Snape requested quietly

Dumbledore paused in his inspection of the swirling contents of his pensieve.

"I have urgent business to attend to," Snape pressed. "It will not take long, but it is important…"

Dumbledore gestured to a note on his desk. "You are aware that I will not allow any harm to come to a student under my care," he said mildly before turning his back. "My dear friend, do not allow anothers ambitions to cloud your own."

Snape unfolded the note clearly delivered by owl. If there had been an addressee other than Dumbledore, it had been artfully removed. _I shall arrive in good time…_

"Give him my best won't you," Dumbledore called, not bothering to look up, "and be back in time for lights out. I'll ask the kitchens to save you some Supper – it's roasties."

0.0

Snape trod surely across the slick cobbles of Diagon Alley and reached for the knob of a wooden door inset between two bay windows. The windows contained slim boxes, lids artfully askew on a black backdrop, their interiors plush with cream silk, red velvet or black damask. They resembled nothing so much as miniature coffins. The contents they conceal are not directly malevolent, they are merely the tools of their occasionally malevolent masters. Deep within the building, a bell sounded tinnily. A metal sign with the sigil of an open hand and a lightening bolt boasting over 100 years of bespoke service creaked in a gusty breeze that caused leaves in the crease of alley and building to dance briefly into what could have been the shape of a hare scenting the air.

Olivander hurried into the shop from the workshop beyond, looking vaguely at odds with his surroundings both richly carpeted and impeccably clean. A sticking plaster stetched and wrinkled in turns on the back of one hand.

"Professor, I sent an owl. I did not expect you…" Olivanders words shrivelled under Snapes beady stare. "You are welcome," he croaked and gestured the way he had come. "Please…" Olivander darted past his visitor and switched the sign in the window of the door from OPEN to CLOSED. Anothers magic turned the key and shot the bolt home before his nervous fingers could reach them and he snatched his hands away when the shutter dropped with a snap and a clatter.

"Come through, please, this way, this way," Olivander bowed obsequiously before his visitor and led the way through a narrow corridor to the back room.

"A seat?" Olivander nervously smoothed his thinning grey hair, "and perhaps some tea? The owl did not arrive I presume?"

Snape did not deign to answer, but swept a hand over the offered seat and inspected his fingers before sitting. He spared a glance for his surroundings whilst the master craftsman bustled with a copper kettle and small stove.

There are no drapes or adornments here, it is a practical space fit only for its purpose. Workbenches lined almost every wall, dotted with an orderly assortment of partially made products. Tools hung neatly pegged to boards above the benches, the only grating discordant note in a march of regular rectangles below, a cleaning cloth trapping a drawer slightly open peeked out like a yellow tongue. Piles of canes in varying hues, seasoning over time made an artistic statement on the diversity of native and exotic woods against the remaining wall. The all pervasive smell of sawdust and ungent was underwritten with a trace of cordite and something that makes the air taste blue. A stove pumping dry heat competed against a cauldron with no visible heatsource belching steam in a corner.

The Wandmaker approached, two steaming cups in hand. Snape allowed his fingers to enfold the proffered beverage and a pair of sugar tongs swiftly shuttled in mid air, plopping two cubes dead centre at their discrete gesture.

"I see you received my message," Snape twitched a finger at Olivanders sticking plaster. "I require your assistance," a slight pause, "and your absolute discretion."

"That will not be a problem," the shopkeeper assured his taciturn visitor. "We of the Wandmakers Circle are automatically bound by more than our word. What exactly is the nature of the err assistance you require. Something new perhaps? Or a repair…?"

The visitor sipped his tea calmly and stares directly ahead. "Let us not play games," Snape replied sourly. There should be a third offer in the list, but Snape was not surprised that it remained unspoken.

"Your wand is still functioning correctly? The bridge is still active? Some of my best work if I do say so myself…" Olivanders voice tailed off.

Snape continued, interrupting, "I will need something a little more tangible that your standard bond." Olivander narrowed his eyes at the response.

"Perhaps if you could be a little more specific?" the Wandmaker coaxed, then tensed as his guest reached deep into his robes.

The drawl comes again. "Something has come into my possession which I believe, with your help, would be of great value to me." He withdrew a box from its place, tucked reverently against his body and placed it between them on the worktop.

Olivanders fingers twitched involuntarily and he masked it, reaching for a handkerchief and elaborately wiped his nose. "There are services that, on occasion, I perform for the Ministry…" he stated dubiously. "They are not widely publicised, but may be necessary for the greater good."

"Quite so." His guest interrupted.

"These tasks are very rare and extremely difficult…." Olivanders voice became flustered, the conversation was taking a turn away from his expectations.

"I would expect nothing less," came the smooth reply

"Time consuming, dangerous…." He stuttered on.

"Indeed." Snapes tone was unctuous.

"Costly…." A nervously tic forced Olivander to dry wash his hands and he grasped his own thumb to prevent himself from continuing the embarrassing action.

"Ah yes. My sources tell me that, in certain circumstances, your remuneration typically includes ownership of a denuded artefact passing to yourself….to add to your …. collection."

"It is common knowledge that I have an archive of spent wands," Olivander blustered. "I guarantee a safe housing for wands which I myself have crafted that have become damaged beyond repair or where the owner has….irrevocably parted company with the device."

The word 'dead' is not spoken but bounced off the four walls like a squash ball.

Silence fell heavily, not least because some of his collection had made their way to him through somewhat unorthodox means, including the Ministrys unofficial sweetener of ownership after the job was completed. There was an international treaty on returning artefacts to their country of origin which Olivander upheld in public and flagrantly ignored in private. He shrugged uncomfortably, wrestling momentarily with his conscience. Some of his prize possessions have been with him so long, the countries didn't even exist anymore.

"The assistance you could provide….would guarantee a most unique addition to your archive. I can assure you that you would be rewarded mostly handsomely for your undivided attention"

Curiosity rippled across the Wandmakers face. Olivander ran a finger around his collar, his visitor was not a Wandmaker and these things were rarely discussed outside a select circle.

"May I see it?"

"I will require a guarantee of your professional integrity."

The Wandmaker hunched at the implied insult.

"Of course." He bustled away and returned with a wand as ancient as his own bones, yellowed and knotted, not unlike his own fingers and bowing his head he answered gravely, "I do so swear." A ghostly binding passed between the wrists of both figures. It settled a chill on both parties, stiffening the posture of one and marginally relaxing the other.

Snape leaned back, a languid gesture invited Olivander to open the box and he lifted the edge of the cloth with a bony finger, folding the cloth all the way back and exposing its precious cargo. Olivander couldn't help the stillness of his response and did his best to mask his disappointment. Still an acquisitive gleam lit his eye.

"May I?"

"By all means,"

Olivander lifted the blackened wand, placing it in a cupped hand and reached for an eyeglass.

"One of mine. One of a kind." He nods, muttering to himself, closely inspecting its gently tapering length. "It was a good year for reaping as I recall."

He weighed it in his hand, rolling it over his curling gnarled fingers. "First year waterspout willow, bark left on, a common wood, but not all that popular. Good for charms, anything involving liquids." His voice turned wistful, "herbology I suppose." Fingertips turned the wand end on to the Wandmakers eye as he sighed and nodded sagely. The single bristle of unicorn hair that was once white was as black as charcoal and probably just as fragile. He tipped and tilted the wand, tugging over a harsh spotlight and posed his head at an angle to see better down the core. His posture relaxed immeasurably. Part of him had been considering a prize much darker than this, one that could have only resulted from the premature death of a young lady of his acquaintance.

"A great loss. Such a pity. Poor Lily." He tried to hold his visitors stare, too soon he found himself blinking away, "and how is it that it has come into your possession?"

His visitor airily waves a hand, "these things….happen."

"It had been thought to be lost."

"So it seems." Silence fell that was not at all comfortable.

"I would be very interested in studying this particular example." Olivander queried hopefully, wondering whether to push his luck and ask for the wand to be left here. A glance at his companions face answered the unspoken question for him.

Olivander couldn't help himself from asking, or the break in his tone. "Hermiones wand…? She sent me an egg, she has managed to unlock the Vine, it's sentient isn't it? Olivander babbled.

"Is with Hermione," Snape inserted smoothly. "It is quite safe. Consider your task here, with this, an act of good faith. Now, tell me more about your Ministry work." Snapes gaze pinned Olivander like a butterfly to a board.

0.0

McGonagall passed amongst the fallen students, muttering '_enervate' _to encourage them back into this world and tripping neatly through the carpet of fallen insects. The net covering the sky wisped away and a stiff breeze blew the moths into a pile. A low murmuring amongst the students dusting each other off caught Hermiones attention. She was getting more sidelong looks than usual and she looked to Cedric for explanation. She had enough of it from her own year group, without having to deal with at a level that was a whole lot more stressful already.

He offered a grim smile, "you're a plausible opponent. They didn't expect you to be able to keep up, let alone still be standing." He pulled at his ear lobe, weighing her gaze, weighing how much to tell her about life as a sixth former.

"But you protected…"

"Yes, and so did they and you are _still _standing," he emphasised.

"Does that mean…" she started and didn't know how to finish the question that she really wanted an answer to, "what does that really mean?"

"Well, what it really means..." he said with excruciating slowness, closing the distance between then and taking both her hands in his, "…is that you are good, for real. And for the record, it's important to remember" he rubbed both thumbs maddeningly softly over the insides of her wrists before continuing, "what's real." He leaned closer in and whispered, "the little stunt with the centaur didn't hurt your reputation any either…"

He dropped her hands and turned back to look at his classmates, leaving her gaping at his audacity. Tomas nodded in their direction. "Forget Tomas," he instructed, "he made himself collateral damage when he should have cut the girl loose. You need someone stronger than that." His shining grey eyes bored into hers. "We have to join the others."

Hermione trailed him, trying to shrug off her confusion over his actions and the irritation over his assumption that it was now somehow his task to be her matchmaker, or something. What the hell was the wrist thing, real? Not real? She couldn't decide without further input. Maybe she could just ignore him. Sudoku was easier to figure out, even the really hard ones with only one clue in the back of the Muggle Sunday papers.

Professor McGonagall rallied the students around the heaped moths on the ground. "For completing the task conscious, 10 points each to Gryffindor and Hufflepuff." She gestured to Cedric and Hermione, he looped an arm around her waist and she snagged a fist in the centre back of his robes when his thumb slipped sneakily under her waistband. She bit her tongue to dowse her squeak of surprise, it would be easier to ignore if the thumb was still, but it rubbed a steady arc back and forth against her skin where her shirt was pulled out of place. Each time it passed, it tickled just enough to make her tense and release the muscles beneath. McGonagall probably thought she was having half a fit.

"For misguided, but outstanding chivalry Tomas, 10 points to Hufflepuff. A further 10 points to you Cedric, for relieving him of his burden. You and Hermione may go, the rest of the class will collect the remaining wing scales and complete the messy business of extracting the eggs." There was a chorus of groans. "Homework," McGonagalls voice rose over the affray, "is to practise tandem pairing, swap amongst yourselves," she encouraged. Possibly only Hermione heard her finish, "I'm sure most of you already are…"

Cedric guided her away, "not bloody likely."

Hermione jerked to a halt, "why not?" The skin where his thumb had so recently passed cooled rapidly in its absence. She paused to straighten her clothing with economic movements that his eyes followed meticulously. "Well?" Curiosity as to whether he would voice his interest again peaked in her.

Cedric crammed both fists into his hair and screwed up his face, working out which truth told his story best. "Your wand doesn't like any of the others"

"It didn't not like Tomas.." she protested, "it just didn't…"

"Exactly," Cedric interrupted. "It just didn't. Look." He tugged at her wand hand sleeve, slipping the button in her shirt cuff open with one hand in a move that was as smooth as it was fast. He crooked a finger at the opening. She slapped a hand over her wrist, trapping a questing vine leaf against her skin.

"Let it come," he demanded, pulling her hand away. "I'm not going to do anything." The leaf and stem wound about his thumb. "You don't realise how unusual this is?"

"As a wand?" she replied, "of course. I spent the Summer with Olivander. Fewer than one in ten thousand wands has vine as a source wood." She watched as he flexed his thumb under the twining braids, how they uncoiled and recoiled about his crooked digit. He rubbed the vine covered pad over her wrist, setting the leaves quaking. Goosebumps slipped down her back and she half lifted a shoulder in aggravation.

His eyes crinkled at her pulling her hand away," besides," he started lazily, a devious expression taking over. "I make a good team."

"There is no 'I' in team," she reminded him of the obvious as the vine retracted up her sleeve. He grinned back, his eyes alight.

"No, but there are five in individual brilliance," he quipped, backing away. "Don't forget your bag." His eyebrows lifted in amusement as he paused in the stone doorway. "Meet me in the restricted section tonight of the library tonight at Eight?"

"Cedric!" she called after him, when a ghastly thought accosted her. "The moths won't be able to fly without the scales and how are they going to get the eggs out." A rueful smile flitted briefly across his face.

"You could go back and watch if you like, isn't it great how humane the school is in not allowing us to use _magic_ to kill stuff?"

He winked at her horrified expression and ducked out of the stone enclosure. Hermione swallowed down acid as she suddenly thought back to Nevilles activity in Snapes study and wondered if he had known the toads might have been alive. There was no way she could ask him without turning her own stomach, leave alone have him eaten up by the guilt of the possibility.

0.0

The breeze outside whipped his robes around his legs and Cedric repeatedly brushed his hair out of his eyes until he found a quiet nook out of the wind. He wasn't surprised when McGonagall found him, but he did allow an eyebrow to lift when she bummed a cigarette off him.

"From what I see, it seems the pairing is working well?"

Cedric nodded slowly.

"You have to tell her about the history of the orb, Cedric."

Cedric coloured in spite of himself. He wasn't surprised that she knew he had it, just that he wasn't quite sure how to present it to Hermione in a way a light that made him look good. McGonagalls face approximated as a smile, almost as if she could read his thoughts.

"Trelawney said you knew how it came about, that it was a token of sorts. A way of expressing feelings between individuals too foolish to declare themselves." Silence thickened.

"I thought you were telling me to wait…"

"Don't take me for a fool, Cedric."

"You mean in class?" he said indignantly. "That was her…"

"So much the better. I'm saying time is against us all, the time for subtlety may be past on all our parts. I'm sure you'll think of something." The Professor glanced at him, "she stayed right to the end - Hermione. Even filleted one or two."

Cedric imagined Hermione with determination written all over her face. It was surprising how easily he could bring her features to mind.

Both of them shrank back as a pod of students passed them by. McGonagall stubbed her cigarette out on the wall behind her before pacing a few steps away.

"No smoking on school premises Mr Diggory," McGonagall called, too loud for the volume to be accidental. "Don't let me catch you again." Her disapproving tone was at odds with the wink she left him with.

Hermione passed into view and glanced his way. Her hair, not tamed in her usual braid, obscured most of face from his view, but it was clear that she had been looking disbelievingly at her hands. Cedric stepped on his cigarette butt and peeled himself away from the wall, falling into step with her downwind.

He jogged her shoulder, offering gum. She showed him her hands filthy with moth gobbets.

"Open?" He offered the gum again and popped it into her mouth when her lips parted. He wasn't sure whose fault it was that his thumb brushed her lower lip. Only that he couldn't look away when her tongue traced the spot, or that he heated under her gaze while it happened.

"You stink of cigarettes." She wrinkled her nose in disgust.

"Which is so much better than moth guts," he grinned, he jogged her again, trying to break her out of her mood. He knew it was working when she elbowed him back in the ribs.

"Here," he said offering his handkerchief, "clean yourself up. If it helps any, they were bred for slaughter, just like tonights roast chicken."

She took the black cotton square and took the worst of the stickiness off, then frowned at the memory of Cedric first taking the orb from her without touching it directly himself, using a handkerchief just like this one. She smoothed over the embroidery of his initials and a small smile broke through. _C.A.D._ How appropriate, his middle name must be after his father.

"How much do you know about the orb, Cedric? I was reading 'Howarts, A History' last night and I think it's in there. It's not mentioned directly, but something happened up by the Whomping Willow and I saw….it doesn't matter, but…."

Cedric took a sharp breath and Hermione rounded on him, eyes narrowing. "You know something don't you?"

"Trelawney told me some things, but you know how she is…she couldn't really say for sure"

"Well, It looks like something I was studying with Viktor," Hermione started pacing and gesticulating. Cedric watched her as if poleaxed.

"His broomstick?"

Hermione rolled her eyes at his sarcasm, "Olivander gave me a book in Bavarian, Viktor was helping me to translate some of it and there was a pictures of some tools that I also have, but don't know what they are for. I mean, Olivander gave them to me and he is a Wandmaker obviously, but I didn't think that they were for Wandmaking and Viktor said that's right."

Cedrics head spun, "wait, so you want to be a Wandmaker?"

"You already know that, well if you bothered looking, it's on my keystone, but that's not the point"

"On your...Hermione you are…Wandmakers live like monks, do you have any idea what you would be giving up?" He caught at her bag strap, shying away from a future where she might be beyond his reach, wanting only to keep her close while he tried to argue her out of it.

"Don't even think about it." She stared at him hard. "Anyway, Viktor said the tools were for carving semi-precious stones and that the orb looked like a replica of an ancient head-piece for a staff. You're staring…"

"There's a Guild, Kit, of guys. You're a girl," he said gently.

Her mouth flattened into a thin line. "Olivander said I could do it," she said mulishly.

"Olivander gave you a wand that has been banned for forty years. I'd trust him as far as I could throw him."

"It's a moratorium, it's still under discussion so they're not actually banned-banned and anyway, the wand chose me."

"And if I was up to something a little shady and wanted a smart, good looking front, I'd choose you too." Cedric used the bag strap to tug her closer, cupping his hand to her face and brushing her cheek with his thumb.

Hermiones eyes fluttered shut for an instant, then flew open. The crack that followed echoed over the grass as far as the walls of the school and back.

"For a girl," Cedric said ruefully, "you have a hell of a right hand." He stepped out of reach of a follow up, rubbing his cheek and grinning sheepishly. At least his mission of changing her mood was accomplished and the new information was…interesting…

"You should enter for the Forest games next year, I never even saw that coming…you have Potions next right? If Flitwick kicks you out, we're in Dungeon 12 making Poisoned Pens.

He walked backwards a few steps, watching her watch him before turning and slouching away, the only sign he was anything other than collected was his hand repeatedly rumpling his hair. A fat drop of rain caught her on the cheek and still she waited. Turning up to a class looking like a drowned rat was somehow preferable to looking like she was running after him – for anything.

0.0

True to form, Flitwick invited Hermione to attend Year 6 Potions. No-one was more surprised than Neville, when she declined and spent her entire class teaching him how to control the flame under his cauldron with painstaking patience.

It didn't work for him until she snapped, "Neville!" so vehemently that Flitwick paused in his instruction to the rest of the class. Neville passed the rest of the time in class trying desperately to hide a semi, but by the time every one was packing up, he could ignite, power up and snuff out a flame without melting anything at all.

Hermione however, could melt his underwear for him with an arch of her perfectly shaped brow. If she told him to, he would probably come in his pants and be thankful for the opportunity to please her.

There was something nagging at him about last night too – he had been aware that multiple Cedrics were part and parcel of the toad venom experience, but that the second McGonagall had seemed a good deal more substantial. He didn't know who to tell, but Hermione was probably a good start.

As it happened, she didn't even need to tell him to make him come undone, just the eyebrow was enough and he had to excuse himself to change before Supper before he could get the information out.

0.0

Silence reigned in the library and Hermione sighed happily and turned to the glossary of the book she was reading, still somewhat mystified about why this one should have been in the restricted section. There was that bit about sharing the same patronus that she might have considered a bit racy, had she not been exposed to Molly Weasley in her formative years, but the whole 'conjugal' thing just sounded outdated now..

"Urgghhh," sounded from across the desk and Hermione looked up in annoyance. Cedric dropped his forehead to the page that he had been staring at for 20 minutes and banged it repeatedly. Hermione tutted, she had almost finished Burstows Anthology of Patronii, Etymology and Meaning.

"Shhhh," she hissed and frowned at him, although they were the only ones in occupation this late. She was safe enough, she thought, with four feet of oak heartwood between them. There was just the authors note, glossary and references to go through and she would be done. He stuck his tongue out at her. She raised her eyebrows and mouthed, "very mature" at him. He grinned and she fought not to return the merriment in his eyes. Despite their contretemps in the school grounds, she still valued his company and he didn't have to invite her up here. She let her smile drop, when she found it hard to look away. Authors note, she told herself and bent her gaze back to the book.

A paper ball, leapt onto her page, rolled across to the dip where the spine opened. She pointedly ignored it. The ball proceeded to roll down the margin to the bottom edge where it teetered, clearly waiting, for her attention. She swatted at it and it zigzagged out the way rolling a little to and fro. The minute she glared up at Cedric his hands shot under the table.

"What?" he said innocently. Not wanting to grace his antics with recognition she huffed and bent again to her task, it would only encourage him, she thought. His chin thumped back on the page and she felt the cool breath he used to propel the ball over the edge of the book where it fell off the table and into her lap, her thighs automatically snapping shut to catch it.

"Cedric!"

"Nothing to see here," he grinned disarmingly. She eyed him warily. It was clear he was bored and she knew from hanging around with Ron how destructive boredom can be in the wrong brain.

"Tell me about what you were reading," she demanded, trying to engage his attention in a more positive direction.

He searched her face intently for a moment before starting, "Wandlore states that the instrument is comprised of three parts..."

The instant he started she turned her gaze back to her own page. Everyone multitasked right? And he was altogether too distracting to stare at for any length of time, especially the way his jaw moved when he talked. Her red hand print was gone anyway and she wondered how he had explained it away before rebuking herself. He probably wore them like a badge of honour, there was probably a points system with his mates if Ron and Harry were anything to go by. She looked up from her musings frowning, when he stopped.

"You're not listening," he said in amused wonderment.

"Oh course I was," she said crossly. She couldn't stop her eyes sliding away from his, flashing silver in the lamplight.

"But I don't have your full attention," he argued, mock hurt

"I don't need my full attention on you," she retaliated, then clicked her tongue harshly. Bad idea, that sounded like a challenge and you never challenged a bored boy because there were no brakes and since they were alone, no obstacles either. She flashed her gaze back to his face. His whole face that said, 'Oh really?'

Oh crap.

"Ok," he drawled out. "So there's the core.."

Her eyes flicked down to the book, to the top line of text that was collapsing onto the line below and the line below that like some bizarre game of Tetris. She put a hand to the parchment and pushed at the disastrous jumble of words, snapping them back into line.

"Are you done...?" when she looked over to him he had his head laid on his forearms, devilment etched in every angle, his top teeth had swallowed his lower lip while he studied her reaction. She stared at him coolly, fixated for a moment by his eye-teeth. He cocked an eyebrow and carried on rubbing his thumb pad over the prickly core bristles that stuck out from the tip of his wand.

"It's here, you can feel it just a tiny bit. Wanna touch it?" he teased

Under the desk Crookshanks awoke with a start, giving an entire body shake that started at his nose and travelled all the way to his tail. He yawned widely in that flip-top-head way that cats can when he realised they were at it again.

"No," she said shortly. It wasn't just the teeth, it was just really hard to look away. He had a face that Picasso would have put together – it shouldn't work, but it just did – on all the squirmy giddy parts of her imagination. Lamplight was just making it worse, throwing hollows into his cheeks to underline his cheekbones and shadowing under his eyes so that he looked sleepily dishevelled.

"Try it, it feels...nice. It won't bite." He offered his wand tip.

"Cedric," she said severely, daring herself to have enough control to meet his eyes

"Just a tiny touch," he coaxed. "For me. You'll like it."

"I don't want to."

"You're scared," he declared, sitting up straight and wielding his wand like a foil. "Kit..." he taunted

"I am not. And don't call me that. I'm not a child." She said mutinously, looking away to prevent the part of her that wanted to inspect the juxtaposition of his features incredibly closely to see how they fit together. The more sensible part of her wanted to beat him bloody with the required reading.

"Scarrrrrredy Kit," he crowed, waving it under her nose.

She grabbed at the wand tip flicking out of the corner of her eye. "Miss!" he gloated. "The crowd goes wild!" He flung both arms back above his head and tipped the chair onto its back legs. All of his abs stood out in relief against the material of his T-shirt pulled tight between his shoulders and his waistband as he arched over the back of the chair.

Enough was enough, she scrambled up and across the desk without really considering the consequences of her actions and launched herself at the raised arm holding the wand. Perhaps he would be less irritating if she just took it off him for the time that it took her to finish the book.

"Hermione!" He cried, grabbing for the edge of the table whilst still keeping the wand out of her reach as she landed in his lap. She grabbed two fistfuls of his shirt.

"What is your problem?" She whisper-yelled at him, letting go the frustration from the afternoon not expended earlier, against his face.

His eyebrows climbed into his hair and he poked her in the ribs with his wand tip. "My problem is that you are space invading and I am trying to study," he said smugly, staring pointedly at her chest which conveniently happened to be at his eye-level.

"Give me that," she spat, reaching for his wand.

"You can't just ask for it," he said as if speaking to an idiot, waggling it out of reach. "You have to win it," he cajoled."

"Win it? What?"

"Like a contest, a wand won't work for someone else unless it is won"

"I don't want to use it." She said disbelieving

"You don't want to play with my wand?" he said suggestively

"No, I don't even like your wand." She scrunched up her face.

"Your wand likes my wand," he said reproachfully

"It does not!"

"Does too..." he goaded

"Does not," this is ridiculous she thought – you should never argue with an idiot, they just drag you down to their level and then beat you with their experience.

"Wanna bet?"

"Huh?" Where the hell was this going and wherever it was wasn't getting the book finished.

"What's it worth - a kiss maybe? You could manage a kiss right? Since you are so sure you are right?" He pursed his lips in thought.

"You'll pull something," she couldn't believe that he was entwining her in this thing, his words winding around her like a bindweeds embrace

"Kissing you?" He scoffed, "I don't think you're that good..."

"No," she said hotly, trying to extricate herself from his lap whilst juggling with the awful concept that she might be both _wrong _and in addition _bad_ at something. "It wouldn't be a fair bet, you'll cheat"

"Are you calling me out?" he said in glee, spanning her hips with his large hands and holding her in place. "I demand the opportunity to defend my honour," his voice all pompous and his eyes shiny with anticipation. She pushed at his wrists feebly, for someone who looked like he never worked out he seemed freakishly strong. It might have something to do with the blood vacating her brain and rushing to the parts of her that were in contact with warm comfortable parts of him. Leggings so not a good choice she berated herself.

Seeing her chance she made a grab for his wand.

"Ahahah-aa," he chided tossing it on the desk and grabbing for her wrists.

"You. Are. Infuriating," she ranted, breaking his hold again and again by twisting her fist only to have him catch at her once more, laughing delightedly before they dissolved into a game of slapsies.

"You're really easy to tease," he panted victoriously, now he had her complete attention. She windmilled her hands at him trying to get a blow in on his chest or head which he defended vigorously.

It was times like these she thought, that he behaved more like the boys in her year. She thought back to memories of fights like these with Ron and sought the same route that had served her well in the past. When eventually she got a hand to the top of his head, she grasped a handful of hair and pulled it backwards, hard.

She was expecting Rons whiney 'Ow.' Cedrics deeper shocked gasp stopped her dead. That and the sight of his exposed neck, the sharp definition of his adams apple and altogether too much jaw. His eyes slid to the side so that he could see the desktop from his awkward angle. He raised his eyebrows and sucked in his cheeks so his lips became an inviting pout.

"I win," he whispered hoarsely

The electric silence was broken by the sound of him swallowing thickly

"You so do not win," she said growled, giving his hair one last tug that made his eyes squint and she felt the air leave his chest in a rush. The low "uh" sound he made her insides flip into her throat, leaving a warm knot in her belly. Something in his pants doing a double tap under her inner thigh had her thinking a million miles an hour.

_Not Ron, not Ron, not Ron._

"See?" he said huskily, planted his palms under her ribs and squeezed. She thought he was going to tickle her and fought the urge to give in and squirm because it would only make him worse if he knew that little tidbit. Instead he used it to turn her upper body so that she could see the desktop. Goosebumps rippled up her spine as she witnessed the vine on her wand reaching out to align her wand with his, much as he moved under her to align his body with hers.

"You owe me," he crooned, breathing into the hair behind her ear. "Kit." He enunciated, popping the 't' sound. She whipped her head back to face him, eyes narrowed.

She thought of Viktor down on one knee asking to escort her to the Gala and how there might be the expectation of a kiss at the end of the night. Never mind what the soft hair on his top lip had felt like against the palm of her hand and how that might translate against other skin. And how little experience she could bring to the table so to speak whereas Cedrics table 'runneth over.' This might be opportune after all, especially if she could prove that she would not miss what Cedric had been referring to should she choose to follow the Wandmakers apprenticeship. There were requirements after all, to be able to approach Unicorns – unless the donors were dead. She couldn't imagine dragon heartstring was easily come by and the unwelcome realisation made her antsy.

"I don't know what I'm doing," she said bluntly.

He shrugged easily, "just do what you feel."

She thought seriously about smacking the smug curl of his lips off his face, but they were at odds with the expectant light in his eyes. She licked her lips nervously and snarled when his grip tightened under her ribs, both at the way his grip made her bra feel too tight and how unabsorbent a thong was. "Put your hands where I can see them."

He reluctantly laced his fingers behind his head, thinking that if she wriggled much more that his hands were going to be the least of her worries.

"Better?" he grinned.

Not really, she thought, but couldn't decide why – maybe it made him look bigger or maybe because she now had to hold herself over him as he was leaning back. He looked nonchalant, but his body was vibrating with tension. Everytime she moved a fraction his whole stomach tensed.

She put a palm on either shoulder scrunching up the fabric there and moved forwards, her mouth set in grim determination and was completely put off by him crossing his eyes as she got closer. She pushed his cheek away in disgust when he laughed out loud at how serious she looked. The beginnings of a five o'clock shadow made her hand twitch and she shook it out like something had slobbered on it.

"Sorry," he murmured and closed his eyes, peeking once to make sure that she wasn't going to back out. Her fingers grazed the sides of his neck where his pulse thundered in silence just before she allowed her lips the amuse bouche of his chin.

He smiled in encouragement, tilting his head slightly as her lips moved upwards in a soft trail to the corner of his mouth. Her hands crept up to his hair as her chest pressed against his and he waited desperate for her mouth to find his. She brushed her lips tentatively over his, unsure as much about the sensations raging through her body as what effect she might actually be having over him.

Feeling braver when he didn't pull away, she leant more heavily against him, rocking against his belt buckle to ease the craving seating itself in her lower body and his lips parted with a low noise in the back of his throat. When she pulled at his lower lip with her own, his arms went around her in a trice, sealing her closer to him as he swallowed her shocked sob at how good it felt when he moved his hips in opposition to hers and his tongue explained to hers why there was no other way but French.

She buckled breathless under the onslaught of his hunger, alternately clenching and releasing handfuls of his hair in an effort to ground herself while his tongue flickered down the skin of her throat and his hips kept steady pace with hers. When he reached the V of her top he stopped, panting, she could have kicked herself when she felt him smile against her skin and then push her off his lap. She stood on shaking legs braced against the desktop to keep herself upright, trying to catch her breath.

She stared at him wide eyed when he slipped to the floor in front of her and looking up at her whispered innocently, "my turn".

"Your turn?" she parroted incredulously. "I gave you a kiss," she gasped while his nose quested to find the dip between thigh and hip, unable to stop her pelvis twisting towards him seeking familiar friction. He rubbed the heel of his hands down the front of her leggings from knee to ankle, stilling when his palms came into contact with the bare skin of her instep. He features spread into a slow smile, no socks tonight. His wand spluttered damp sparks when he swept his thumbs under her arches and her hips bucked into his face in response. Her toenails were painted a deep blush pink and suddenly he wanted to know if she was the same colour _inside_ so badly that it hurt.

He hummed into her leggings, leaning his cheek against her thigh to try and calm his breathing, his senses flooded with the scent of ozone, musk and heat. He squeezed his eyes tight shut intensifying the feedback her topography gave touching his face. Lust burned his throat raw.

"You gave me the kiss you wanted to give, not the kiss I wanted to have. As I am sure you are aware, understanding the question is only basic exam technique...and this will be so, so much better," he rasped. When he applied himself, she could feel every press and stroke of lips and tongue through fabric that might as well have not been there.

Her jaw dropped in a soundless 'O', feeling as if every bone was wilting under his heated breath. She felt unmoored when he moved his hands up the back of her legs, pinned only by his tongue plunging into the damp furrow it had made, her mind drifting on the sea of shockwaves emanating from the sight of his face buried between her thighs.

Her stomach flattened and shook. He grunted in frustration at the barrier and the angle and the need to be closer. Unable to take much more of the hollow feeling he seemed to be creating within her, she got an unsteady hand to his shoulder and tugged, whimpering "up."

Wordlessly he lifted her bodily onto the desktop, the veins standing out on his neck momentarily and tipped her backwards into a pile of parchment and leather bindings. Books spilled heedlessly over the edges, flipping open, pages whirring to save themselves from a hard landing. She raised herself on her elbows, trapping his gaze with her own. He warred with himself between finishing what he started and watching her finish, deciding ultimately on aiming for both.

On the corner of the desk, her wand rubbed itself shamelessly against his own, the vine leaves flexing and quivering in a hedonistic frenzy.

He slowly wiped the corner of his mouth with his thumb, drunk on her taste and the certainty she was close and he was the cause. He enjoyed her watching him almost as much as the sight of her spread before him, her chest heaving and shoulders shaking with the effort of keeping herself propped up. He pinched the flat of his tongue between thumb and forefinger muttering awkwardly '_estudo_' and barely flinched as the stud slipped into place, clicking it experimentally against the back of his front teeth.

She watched his mouth descend, the piercing glinting dully in the lantern light and gave herself over to the sensation of undulating muscle and unyielding metal. Desire spun and twisted behind her belly button when his thumb knuckle wedged the fabric, stretched tight over her opening, persistently inwards. He ground his hips mercilessly against the desk edge, crushing his erection and the burgeoning need to bury more than just his nose between her thighs while she rose to meet his slick touch, offering herself to his increasingly savage attentions over and over.

Parchment tore and crumpled in her hands. Inky, curlicued characters squished together resolving themselves into flickering images of svelte creatures chasing one another in play. A crude approximation of muddy paw prints skittered, leaping from one tattered edge to another, large prints hurtling after smaller darting dabs of spoor.

He paused stricken, when his restraint gave way to the self inflicted friction, shuddering against her straining limbs and wrapping his arms under her hips to hold himself together. She held herself bowed up away from the surface, keening softly for his returned momentum, as her body absorbed the muffled groan accompanying his release. He nuzzled her once more, twice was enough, pressing himself tighter in as she came apart, crushing her lower body to the desktop under his exhausted frame.

In the twenty silent heartbeats that followed, a bookworm from the SexEd section drew out an index card and critiqued Cedrics technique, tsking disapprovingly at the wisp of blue smoke escaping the ash wand tip.

Crookshanks flicked an ear back and forth at the ragged breaths filling the air and the steady sated hum flattened his coat comfortably around him like a familiar hand. He passed a coarse tongue over the unruly tip of his tail that still vibrated like a rattlesnakes warning.

Cedric raised his head at the fluttering touch of her fingertips against his jaw and heaved himself up. He staggered back a step when she refused to meet his eyes. Hermione picked up her wand without looking and slipped off the desk, the vine coiled neatly back in place, its abrupt recoil causing his wand to roll heavily off the table.

"Hermione?" he whispered. She paused in front of him side on and facing resolutely forward, raised her chin. He wasn't sure what he expected, but it wasn't this. She met his gaze glassily, impassively.

"Congratulations," she whispered. "My first." Her skin still hummed with his touch, blood still burned with his imparted fire. It wouldn't be so bad if it weren't for the feeling that there was more and that he could give it to her. And would if she asked, or possibly even just stayed. For this reason, more than any other she propelled herself forward, that and that this was a library, her sanctuary, a place she spent more time in than her own bed. A place where now every time she passed the sleeping shelves, she would hear the echoes of pleasures they had shared rather than the voices of the authors imparting their invaluable knowledge.

She half reached for his face so that she could explain, better perhaps without words that her going was not so much leaving as self preservation. If she held any part of him now, she couldn't do it. He would offer his hand and she would take it, for in his eyes was surprise and exhaustion and forever and something else. For the first time, when she stared into him she saw Fire. It was followed by water, black water, but it was the symbol of salt that stayed her hand. Salt that needed a plan and a shield, not more salt.

Her bare feet padded in the plush carpet taking her away from him. She moved more sinuously than he recalled, like every joint was double hinged, every limb only electively straight.

"Hermione!" he repeated, louder, repressing the gut wrenching roar that demanded she acknowledge him, little knowing how much she already had.

Her sneakers clopped past him, the backs still folded flat against the insoles where her heel had bent them in her haste to make the library meeting on time. They raced to make pace and nestled neatly in front of her descending toes so that she slipped them on without breaking step. When she turned the corner without looking back, Cedric thrust both hands into his hair and doubled over. It wasn't supposed to feel like this. It would have been better if she had left her scarlet fury on his face.

Straightening and rubbing his hands down his face, her scent ambushed him again and he groaned bitterly when his cock stirred stickily, reminding him of the consequences of action before thought. He turned to scoop the heaped parchment into some semblance of order and uncovered a stray paw print, the ink still bleeding into ancient wood grain of the desktop. Before his eyes the edges congealed into the scrappy outline of a heart and as the blob in the centre sank without trace, it left a letter in gothic script either side of a simple cross.

**C + H**

He tipped his face towards the ceiling to combat the stinging in his eyes and fought the lump in his throat whilst he worked out how to take the evidence of their shared moment with him. It wouldn't make the Yearbook, he decided, she deserved something all her own, their own.

0.0

A/N Anyone fancying a lie down right about now, you can share my pillow.

An amuse bouche is a taster dish that you might get in a posh restaurant, normally on a dinky ceramic spoon to show how brilliant your chef is. I never met one I didn't like.

I have no idea what a tongue stud would be in latin, so I made it up. The closest Italian was _lingua stallone_ which just killed the moment for me right after I finished pmsl

There will be a 2 week break while I sort some stuff out. I'll do a summary so hopefully we are all on the same page before we kick off again k?


	12. Chapter 12

A/N Summary at the bottom. JK Rowling invented the Whomping Willow, I just put the Whomp in it. If you skipped the first bit, you could read it anywhere, j/s. *winks*

Dumbledore continued sifting through the memories swirling in his pensieve until he found the one he wanted. He allowed a sad sigh and braced himself to relive the torment of losing a student on his watch. The fact that it had happened at all appalled him, the unexpected nature of the circumstances did nothing to defray the sense of failure that he still felt. He shut his eyes against the familiar tilt as his mind plunged him backwards in time to the early days of his headmastership.

He watched his younger self pass by, patting the arm of the woman by his side and smiling into the serene expression of Lily Evans. Her left hand was heavy with a ring for the first time and she had enlisted his help in breaking the news gently, to someone whom she had thought might take it poorly.

"He will be happy for you I'm sure," he had reassured her.

"He will be happy that you are here," she had murmured, her face showed just how grateful she was that Dumbledore was with her. It was well known that Severus loathed James with a passion ripe for violence. What Lily could not have known was that the violence was reciprocal, just never in front of her since Dumbledore had inaugurated the Forest Games to give them both an outlet in a way that protected the other students.

"I said I'd meet him by the Willow…we are a little late…" she let the sentence drift. Dumbledore was not so coarse as to mention the evidence of delay darkening her collarbone where it disappeared into the v of her shirt or the scruff rash pinking her neck poorly hidden by the curtain of her hair.

"I wanted to wait for Graduation, but James wouldn't hear of it," Lily dropped her chin and embarrassment bloomed on her face. Dumbledore squeezed her hand in sympathy, he knew himself how James hands were always so gentle, but his mouth had a casual brutality and passion was a poor warden. The bite mark on at the top of the back of his thigh tugged at his memory at every step and he quashed the remembered hunger for more. Hunger also fanned a small flame, that another might take James' place.

Dumbledore followed the couple climbing the hill steadily, cresting it just in time to hear Helens cry of triumph and Snapes guttural groan of relief. Dumbledore watched Lilys shocked gasp cut through Snapes haze like a hot wire through butter. The curl in his own stomach was from the sight of Severus in a parody of Dumbledores own fantasises.

Helen twisted beneath Snapes body, the motion pushing him out of her body even as he pressed his hips closer to anchor her to him as she reached both hands overhead for her wand, carelessly brushing the trunk of the Willow with one as her wand sprang into her other hand.

"Lily, no!" Snapes anguished plea that they not be seen caught Dumbledore unawares every time. Dumbledore witnessed the instinct that allowed Snape to reach for magic without the conduit of his wand as he thrust his palm towards the spectators, the force of emotion so strong that the shield also defied Helens stroke at her rival.

Dumbledore never saw the ricochet at a trajectory that Helen was unable to avoid, perhaps unintentionally killed by the weight of her love as surely as his hand…nor could he explain why his own wand was out and his arm trembling from the force of a magical exertion that left him reeling.

Lily clutched her hands to her face and screamed when the boughs of the Willow shook like a girl letting her hair down and again when it took aim and set about itself with flailing limbs. Dumbledore dragged himself away, clinging once more to the basin of the pensieve in his study.

A new edict had been issued that fateful day, Magic at Hogwarts was not allowed to take life. No training would be passed to students in regard to killing curses. He had forced a high ideal on others, that he could not swear he had kept himself.

He moved to the desk and shuffled papers into a manila folder, one of them an old thesis by an honours student, Pomona Sprout who postulated that Helen, on the instant she was hit had sought the Willows embrace and the Willow had taken her in, or as much as could pass before Snape had interfered in trying to capture her consciousness in an orb.

A letter from the Ministry, dated the day after the thesis had been submitted, immediately invoking a moratorium, extrapolated that Vine wielders could incite the Forests to rise against them. Dumbledore fingered a copy of his reply poo-pooing the ridiculousness of the idea. He had been shouted down anyway. He folded a note from a conversation he had shared with Helen the day before she died, her eyes bright with excitement saying that she could talk to the trees. He had been busy crafting a letter to James parents about his latest altercation with Severus and had paid it no mind.

Vine wands were banned, the world turned and a bright young Witch was united with a forbidden wand anyway.

He flicked through the results of the subsequent experiments with lesser Vines in the tropical glasshouse, but little had come of them. A black and white photo of Helens wand slipped into his hand, the rod had been snapped into two and the Vine, ripped from the rod, lay twisting like a slow-worm severed by an incautious spade. Minervas wrath had been for her sister, Dumbledore was uncertain even now if Severus had ever known the strength of the _other_ sisters feelings for him..

Dumbledore pinched the bridge of his nose and hoped for his colleagues safe return. There were stories emerging about the new casino in Diagon Alley and Snape had the best poker face he had ever had the misfortune to play against. And Wandmakers were not to be trusted.

0.0

Olivanders thoughts faltered under Snape piercing gaze and it took a moment for him to collect himself and remind himself that Snape had come to him, needed him for the skills he had to offer. He had the upper hand, it just didn't feel like it at present, or come to think of it, at any time during their conversation.

"Ministry work is complex," Olivander rambled. "Results are varied as I am sure a person of your considerable learning would understand, Professor."

"Go on," Snapes tone was bored, with a thin veil of impatience.

"The living wand contains a morphic memory of sorts, a unique scoring of the core if you will, based on the actions the wands have been party to, or in some cases merely witnessed."

"And.." Snape prompted, although the difference was barely palpable, he was more animated now than before.

"The memory may need to be extracted in order to confirm a certain sequence of events"

"And…," Snape waved a hand as if to draw the desired information from Olivander.

"Innocence, guilt, even can be determined in this way. The wand acts as an unending library of magical actions and events."

Snape made a digusted noise in the back of his throat and looked away as Olivander recounted more populist wandlore.

"The living wand is as much a part of the wielder as their own skin, its longevity is intrinsically linked to the care and attention bestowed upon it. Its ability grows over time, as the wielder grows in magical potential, so does the wand."

In an attempt to win back the Professors attention, Olivander strayed into more murky territory. "When a wizard dies…." The words suffocated under Snapes renewed stare, his gaze both curious and knowing in equal measure.

"Do go on…." Snape leaned forward, interest craned his protesting frame into a rictus of eagerness.

Olivanders throat bobbed with effort.

"Depending on the condition of the wand, its age, even how it has been stored can affect the retention of these abilities. Of course if the owner has passed in battle, the victor may claim the wand as their rightful possession and force it to work for them. It will work well enough, although there have been some casualties reported. Undesired outcomes and so on."

Olivander perused the wand further. "There is no scorching on the wandwood. Hmm. Not lost in battle then?" He muttered to himself. "That's surprising under the circumstances."

Snapes fists clenched and opened repeatedly under his robes. A sick hollow feeling purged acid onto the back of his tongue. She didn't even bother to fight to save herself, the child was too precious even for that. Bitterness curled his lips into a sneer.

Snapes voice is faint, "how much of the ability remains if it were not lost in battle?" He locked his jaw and spat out the remaining question between almost closed teeth. "The ability to shield or protect for example?" He resisted the urge to scratch at his forearm.

"When the owner dies…" Olivander wrinkled his nose, "willow with unicorn," he tsksed and shook his head. "Even with a different core…" he shrugged, his shoulders made a more eloquent answer.

Hope damaged almost beyond repair, Snape slumped in his chair. A second option whispered, he winced away from the hurt that walked hand in hand with what he must ask to bury his pain once and for all. For the first time in the meeting he was almost softly spoken, "…and the memories?"

Olivander replied as if the answer was as obvious to his guest as himself. "Lilys wand has a unicorn hair core. A single unicorn hair as a core. It is common knowledge that these wands die with their owners, my own abilities only extend as far as the living wand."

Snape raised both eyebrows and lifted his chin in query, certain that he had heard the answer before and equally certain that this time, this time, it is a lie.

Olivander raised Lilys wand flat on his palm between them, "these things are simply not possible."

A brisk hand swept the wand from Olivanders grasp as his visitor rose so fast that the stool behind him teetered on two legs.

"Pity," sneered a voice Olivander came to feel was synonymous with his own indigestion. "Perhaps the Bavarian Guild would be more…accommodating. I'll be sure to pass on your regards"

"Wait!" Olivanders alarmed tone arrested his visitor. The thought of losing that wand to a competitor was unthinkable. "They wouldn't be able to unlock it." Desperation seeped into his tone at Snapes impassive expression. "If it means so much to you, there are ground breaking techniques that I could try, if you would only allow it."

The tsunami of words pouring from the wandmakers mouth reignited a tiny flame of Snapes future in which Lily existed, in some form. Any form.

"The Bulgarians have had some success with a crystalline mesh to preserve the core. It's not extraction so much as projection." Olivander prattled on, wringing his hands before gesturing again to the vacant seat.

Snapes cold voice echoed emptily as he raised a finger to point directly at Olivanders heart, sinking back onto the stool. "You will get me….everything."

An array of emotions played across Olivanders face, elation to …fear. He shook his head, the glory of defeating such a challenge and having it known amongst the inner echelons of the Wandmakers Circle was suddenly eclipsed by the notoriety that it would bring him in the greater wizarding world and this didn't bear thinking about. "If it became known that this was even possible, that my name was linked to such a thing," he whimpered.

Snape smiled thinly, his voice thick with sarcasm, "I am myself, the very soul of discretion."

"The price…" Olivander persisted, ever the businessman.

"Money," replied Snape, "is no object. I guarantee your reward will be commensurate with your expertise in obtaining the desired result."

"The memories then?" Olivander confirmed, his voice hardened, sensing the bargain to be made. He took a quill and ink, scrawling an outrageous figure on a scrap of parchment and pushed it across the table. "My best and only offer."

"Snape barely spared it a glance. It was not a 'no.'

"It will take some time," pondered Olivander.

"The night is long," stated Snape. "Unless you have a pressing need to be somewhere else." The last word is drawn out as a sibilant hiss. No part of it was posed as a question.

The wandmaker shifted nervously, he was less than keen to work with an audience. It was clear, however, that his colleague was unwilling to relinquish the wand to Olivanders custody without something in return. Ire made his tone harsh and his demand brash, "I will retain the wand after," he reasserted.

Snape inspected the ceiling minutely, breathing in heavily through his nose. "Agreed." Snape stamped the butt of his wand against a corner of the parchment, leaving a bifurcated mark like a woodland beasts footprint. It fluttered away to a corner, impaling itself on a spike weighted with a wooden block.

Olivanders form melted against the workbench with relief. Deal done. Parameters set, he knew four of the driving forces that divine a mans fate and hugs them to his chest. Money. Possession. Challenge. Danger. A fifth, it seems, his unlikely customer owned, or was more accurately owned by. Love.

Determined to set a benchmark of expectations, Olivander continued, "whilst memories may indeed remain, there could be fading, fragmentation, some discontinuity….after all a considerable length of time has passed since the unfortunate events of Lilys passing."

Lank hair bobbed in time with the head nodding genially at all the reasons why the results might be less than a man clinging desperately to the wreckage of a dream could reasonably wish for. The grim reminder of his first loves demise snapped his backbone straight and he resumed his unwavering appraisal of the wandmaker and his subject.

His voice brooked no argument. "Begin."

"I need something that I do not have, in order to split the Wandwood without further damage. Normal methods with an object as fragile as this has become, would simply obliterate the core."

"And that is?"

"Hermiones wand and the tools that I gave her at the end of the Summer."

0.0

Snape let himself out of the Wandmakers shop. Darkness had fallen, but the Alley was lit with the raucous light from the Casino. His feet moved him there, but he wavered at the entrance. His mind was on Lily and gaming required concentration. Perhaps it would serve as a distraction.

"Yes, Sir!"

"Right this way, Sir!"

"Try your luck, Sir!"

"New batch just in, Sir!"

"A galleon if you please, Sir! Drink up, Sir! May I take your cloak?"

Snape came to himself as solicitous hands tried to separate him from his cloak and the precious cargo in the pocket. He stared at the pinkish cordial sloshing in a decorative bottle, Lilys voice in his head, saying the same phrase, when he had come to visit shortly after the baby was born.

"_May I take your cloak?" Stay…_

A voice still ringing with friendship, in spite of her choices, his choices. He had showed her the bridge on the butt of his wand and held the child uncomfortably at arms length until she took him again. She had smiled, told him it didn't matter and he had asked for hope, without resorting to telling her about James. She had coloured furiously when she hugged him, unexpectedly hard, at goodbye, her actions telling him she already knew.

"Another time," Snape tipped the bottle up and watched the contents patter on to the pavement as the doorman leapt backwards.

"_Another time." When we are alone_

"Right you are, Sir! Next time you are in town perhaps, Sir!"

The bottle vanished as soon as the liquid had leaked completely away and Snape turned on his heel.

The doorman swiped at a drop splashed on the back of his hand. Nothing untoward happened until his fingers brushed the back of the pretty cashiers hand and he found himself in a foreign body…with breasts.

0.0

Breakfast clattered all around her, but Hermione was momentarily oblivious. Yoghurt should not be permitted as a breakfast option she decided as she tried her best to scrape the unfortunate incident from her sweater. It was no good, she would have to go and change. Muttering to Harry and Ron that she would meet them in Herbology, she rose using Rons shoulder as a pivot point and stepped over the long bench. Ron hid his face in his hands, trying to suppress his laughter at her shocked expression that an inanimate object had dared besmirch her pristine self and hunched his shoulders for the inevitable whack that would signal her departure. It never came.

Ron stared about, looking for her departing form, but saw only a lanky gait and floppy hair exiting the great double doors at speed, robes flapping. Huh, he thought, post breakfast booty call, lucky bastard, or maybe not, on a full stomach and all. He helped himself to another jam doughnut and sighed, breakfast of kings. Harry nudged his shoulder and gestured with his chin to where Cho was sitting, awkwardly craning her neck to watch a path most travelled. Cedric gone, Cho still here, Hermione...the jam from Rons donut hit poor Creevy in the eye.

0.0

Hermione made her way swiftly up the staircases, tugging her sweater over her head and balling it up in one hand, her wand idle in the other. Strangely the vine unwound itself and draped dreamily over her closed hand, drifting to and fro like someone would dally a finger in a lazy stream. She was nearing the top of the current staircase when it started to move and she grabbed unsteadily for the banister. Bloody things only ever moved when she was in a hurry, it's like they reacted to emotional distress and spun about to disperse the pent up energy.

She turned in the direction of travel to see where it might land and out the corner of her eye caught sight of him on the tier below, his staircase also in motion...towards hers. He was looking up, directly at her, there could be no mistaking the intensity of his gaze and she felt the heat rise from her toes to her face in a matter of seconds. He folded his arms and raised his chin in acknowledgment. A secret smile played about his face, as if unsure if it was welcome and did nothing to hide the fact that night had not been kind to him.

Expletives rose silently to her lips starting with 'arse' and ripening progressively as the staircases meshed and ground to a halt, the bottom of hers to the top of his and she turned away so that he might not see the distinctive shape that her mouth made when she couldn't stop herself saying aloud the word 'fuck'. She gritted her teeth and stared in disbelief at the top of her stairs still in midair and now completely stationary. Staring heavenwards to relieve her breath and invoke divine intervention, she frowned when a black cowled face drew swiftly back, the expression it had held was pained and the owner...unexpected. She didn't have time to consider it further before she felt a finger slip down her spine.

She spun ready with knives on her tongue. He wasn''t even touching her, just stroking the mid rib on the underside of vine leaf nearest him, its edges curled languidly and she yanked it away embarrassed by proxy. Even a step step below her he was taller than her and she refused to look up at him. She put another steps separation between them.

"I looked for you," he said evenly, "after you ran."

"There was no running!" she said indignantly.

He worked his mouth. "After you...left," he was trying really hard not to let the smile leak into his tone.

"Are you avoiding me?" he asked considering, "only it's barely the beginning of term and you're taking advanced classes with me. I can't see that working for you."

He moved up a step. She moved up to the half landing that would knit with her floor when the blasted stonework agreed to cooperate, looking anywhere but at him. Looking would be a grave mistake. She could already feel the wall of sensation that preceded him, her skin peeling away under the blast furnace of embarrassment leaving exposed the imprint and ashes of yesterdays reality repeated in last nights dream. His exertions had pulled a shirttail out of his belt, not that she was looking. At all.

"I'm not...you can't...I'm...Oh!" she drew in a breath and with it a consciousness she had not expected to find. Her feet planted like a seedling, its roots questing through soil and grit ...and rock.

"You're not…?" his tone was amused but his face was serious, concerned by her rapidly unfocusing eyes.

"Like that…the library," she said faintly, barely making sense, weakly flailing her arms. Under her feet, the marble floor hummed and masonry dust fell twinkling into the stairwell below. In a sudden moment of clarity she knew what it would take to get her to the Gryffindor tower and she could get it with the slightest touch on bare skin. The tiniest brush from him would make it happen, she could feel the ripeness of the power budding under her skin. Not his hand, when he might expect a bond and expect to keep it, her – somewhere else with enough distraction to make it safe – safe enough. The knowledge was exhilarating and that she had access to it in this moment, terrifying.

"What?" he laughed, "Can't teach you what?" He took a step closer, trying to see into her face properly to help him understand, what direction to take that would get her to allow him closer, enough to touch her. Her eyes narrowed and her lips parted while she considered the price. There was no doubt that it was high, for her. There might be damage. Fallout. If he picked her up in the crushing hug that she had witnessed when Cho caught up with him this morning, she was lost. And she was not ready, so not ready for salt, not now she had found him.

She took a deep breath and took him by surprise.

"This," she said breathlessly and moved so her mouth was millimetres from his own, allowing him the thrill of closing the gap, or trying. She considered the chase and flicked between roles of hart and huntsman, discarding it for something more symbiotic, the rigidity of the Yew in her Mothers garden and the scrambling rose that hid under its cover all Winter and clothed it in glory all Summer.

Beneath them the staircase shook and groaned, setting itself in motion back the way it had come. Cedric grasped her upper arms to steady himself, with the exception of her mouth and the parts he was directly touching she was as stiff as the stone she stood on. At least until he breached the last step and loomed over her, she leaned her body back awkwardly to preserve the minute space between them, her breathing ragged and she reached for him to steady herself in turn, the balled up sweater shoved against his stomach, before letting herself fall away, timing it perfectly so that when he closed his eyes, she stepped backwards, slipping from his hands onto the landing as the staircase passed her exit and carried on turning. Cedric windmilled his arms to keep from falling.

"Hermione!" he called in annoyance, robbed. He spun on his heels, searching for where the stairs might stop, espying the next half landing in three, two, one, he jumped as the stairs swung away dizzily onwards. His shoulder hit the flagstones and he rolled as he might falling from a broomstick, gathering his feet under him and racing along the hallways. It was most unbecoming for his seniority, but he couldn't find it in himself to slow, knowing still that he would be too late to catch her and doing it anyway.

Hermione skipped up the steps to the common room and smiled prettily at the Fat Lady to mask the fact that she had no breath left to speak of. Her lips burned and burned. She fiddled with the vine stretched out like a recalcitrant child forced too soon to leave a favourite toy.

"Next time," she promised the drooping stem, rewinding the limp form and floppy leaves closer to the wandwood. It glowed faintly and she mentally kicked herself. She should know better than to swear on a wand and not mean it. There would it seemed, have to be ...something. She determined that it would at least be on her terms and absobloodylutely nowhere near the restricted section of the library.

"Strumpet," she gasped as Cedric hared around the corner into sight and the door swung open just enough to admit her.

The Fat Lady chuckled in good humour, "I'll say!" and looking past Hermione commented, "only reason for kicking that out of bed mind, is to make good use of the floor." She laughed uproariously at her own humour.

Hermione turned to walk backwards through the closing picture frame so that she might see every expression flit across his mobile features. Want. Hope. Acceptance. Resolve. Determination. He slowed and bent at the waist, gasping for breath, raising his head to stare at her beadily from under his floppy damp darkened hair. His eyebrows rose as he took in her watching him, closing the door in his face. The last word she thought she heard was disbelieving, "seriously?"

Hermione bounced up the stairs to the room she shared, stuffing the soiled sweater in the laundry bin and pulling a fresh one from her trunk. She perched briefly on the edge of her bed and swept a soft hand over the dozing form of the Kneazle. Crookshanks sighed in his half sleep and settled his nose tighter in under his tail, the hairs up his spine rose like a hand had brushed them the wrong way. Hermione struggled into the fresh clothing, she hadn't settled properly last night without her familiars help.

First he had caught and noisily eaten what looked like a bumblebee although it was chequered with black and gold instead of the usual stripes, trod down the bedclothes close to her fitful form and then settled heavily across her midriff. His steady purr soothed her jangled nerves and her dreams had relived every shake and shudder under Cedrics ministrations. The hug of the bed linen a lovers embrace, the draught from a window ajar a steady whisper against her skin and the Kneazles weighty form the brawny shoulders and heavy head of a sated admirer. She had awoken well rested, if in need of another shower. How far they had come since The Burrow.

She took the Floo to the Great Hall, set herself on the path that would take her to the largest of the three greenhouses and allowed herself a small cringe at the pre-match related memories trying to break through. Ginny and she had left Harry and Ron in the pool hidden in the salt marshes when they started talking about playing submarines. This was her what, fourth year being around the two boys and frankly if they ever grew up, it would be a miracle. She had pulled Ginny away, the girl had plenty of time to see Harrys 'periscope' when she was older.

As for Ron, she had little interest and it was only in the last year that he had stopped goosing her with his 'periscope' – that might have had something to do with her grabbing hold of it the last time and refusing to let go. Her lips twisted and a small snort escaped as she recalled his reaction and his reaction to his reaction and then she scratched at her palm and tried to think of something else. Molly Weasley sprang to mind, joking about Ron in the kitchen over a bacon butty while she updated Hermione on how birds and bees worked in the magical world – since her own mother would have no clue and these things come up in conversation when Cosmo is left lying about. The phrase 'a babys' forearm holding an apple' tried to paint itself pictorially over the door handle of greenhouse 3 and Hermione choked on her own spit. No, that wasn't what she was looking for. Focus she told herself.

"Ah good, 'Ermione," Hagrids gruff tones always appeared to come from his stomach rather than his mouth. Whether that was due to his beard or his stature she never knew. The students already gathered were garbed elbow deep in khaki green gauntlets. Malfoy jostled in behind her and gave her a dirty look for blocking the doorway, or maybe for just being alive. He withered under her hard stare, cupping himself and moving behind Crabbe and Goyle.

"We will be feeding the carnivorous cabbages today, but you an' Neville are wanted in green'ouse 1 with Professor Sprout." Hagrid looked shifty. "Err somethin' to do with your wans' he growled. She would have believed him if it weren't for the sight of a familiar arm around Nevilles shoulders, the owner hidden behind Hagrids burly form.

She schooled her face as Cedric straightened and stepped into view. There would be a death she decided, she would do her best to make it look accidental, but maybe she didn't care, when Neville looked between Cedric and Hermione and appearing perceptive as ever announced in his bluff honest tone, "Wow man, you took down the Granger?"

0.0

Cedrics teeth made a brief appearance, reflecting the amusement he found in her appalled face.

"We were only practising Nev," Cedric paused, grinning more widely the more pissed off she appeared. "Hermione asked me to dance and you know I hate to disappoint a lady."

"Oh yeah, I heard that." Neville replied, a mixture of wonder and hero worship in his voice

Dancing thought Hermione, wilting with relief, they were talking about bloody dancing.

"Hey Hermione, you could have as'ed me. You know I'm good coz of my Nan an' all." Neville sounded more sure of himself in that moment than she thought she had ever heard him be. He puffed out his chest like a pouter pigeon, reliving the dancing lesson sprung on them by McGonagall in preparation for the Yule Ball. For almost an hour he had shed the awkward shyness that surrounded him and given everyone a faceful of the gallant, gifted and gentle man that lay beneath. Like Cinderella, it vanished when he took off the shiny, narrow shoes and he had knocked into the Parvati sisters, downing them like skittles. To be fair they hadn't been looking where they were going – Harry was still on the floor, trying to pick Ginny up off it. Nerves were getting the best of him around her and ever since the dinner table incident he had been treating her like a grenade with the pin missing.

"Thanks Neville, but umm I think I've got it now." It wasn't his fault she decided, he was being led by the nose.

"Yes," affirmed Cedric, tugging Neville into a headlock. "I think she's got _it_ too, no?"

Hermione turned back towards the door and sighed, "come on." Stepping into her usual role as marshall of the troops.

"Green'ouse 1 remember," came Hagrids booming voice. She gave him a backwards wave and pushed the sliding door aside. It grated back over the shuffle of footsteps and she looked back to see Neville being planted none too gently on his back in the dirt. Cedric was poised over him, his face a thundercloud before he broke into his usual easy smile and offered Neville a hand to pull him to his feet. Neville took it, wincing when he righted himself and dusting himself off, watching his adversary warily. Cedric swept a hand over the back of Nevilles robes, using the time to digest the revelation that Neville had inadvertently let slip.

"What ARE you doing? We are going to be late!"

"Alright little Miss white rabbit," said Cedric, as the two boys drew level

"I'll just be going on ahead," said Neville, back to his usual downtrodden self. He stepped around them and hurried away.

"What did you do?" asked Hermione mystified. Cedric studied her for a moment, wrestling with the unfamiliar possessiveness that Neville had brought to the surface in telling him that he, Neville had already asked Hermione to go to the Yule Ball, for which Cedric had knocked him on his back. Further, that she had turned him down because she was already going with someone else and it wasn't him, which had inspired Cedric to help him back up, although without apology. Moreover he mused, she must have been asked before the night in the library, after which he had considered her strangely his when in fact she was potentially already someone elses entirely. It didn't sit well with him in the least. Not only that, but there was the Library issue to skirt around and the orb to discuss, none of which he could accomplish if she kept bolting.

He didn't answer and forced a smile, knocking into her shoulder. "Nothing," he lied easily and offered a hand that she pointedly ignored.

"What's with the change in lesson plan and DON'T tell me you are not behind it."

"You left something, after we were…together." She stared at him, her feet dragging as the greenhouse came into view. The distinctive figures of Professor Sprout and Longbottom were heads together at the far end.

Cedric offered Hermione the butt of his wand.

"I don't want it now," she said rolling her eyes.

He waved it at her. "Take it," he gestured with his chin, "a third of the way up, you'll see what I mean." She gingerly took hold of the wandwood, sliding her fingers up the cool, smooth rod until they met a distinctive ridge. The hairs on Cedrics forearm bolted upright and he self consciously coughed back the lurch in his stomach. She rubbed a thumb over it, back and again like a penitent shuffling rosary beads and knew what it was without looking, but yanked it out of his unwilling hand anyway and held it up to the weak sunlight, twisting it this way and that.

"It can't be," she said, thinking back to how close the wands had been that night and now desperate to examine her own wand for damage.

"I'm pretty sure it is," he whispered, closer than she had realised and she jerked her face away from his lips curving into an irritatingly familiar smile. His hand closed around her hand around his wand, saying conspiratorially, "you've scarred me for life." Above their joined hands, a tendril from Hermiones wand had seated itself, the night in the library, so firmly in the Ash of his wand that he couldn't dislodge it. He thumbed the space between the two ends of the ring and frowned, almost certain that the gap was smaller than he remembered. He had polished it for hours last night, hoping to wear it down but then just for the feel of it, slipping the ridge pleasingly against the cleaning cloth covering the circle of his thumb and forefinger. The join was so tight, not even the edge of a fingernail could get under it.

She was getting annoyed, he could tell from the waves in the magic potential belting up his arm. Like the game of Russian Wizards chess where the more pieces you lost, the more shock you got when you made the next move, she was getting too hot to hold.

"How do we take it off?"

"We don't," he said, dropping her hand like she scalded him and tugging his wand out of her hand. "That's what Professor Sprout is for."

"It's not really herbology," said Hermione dismissively

"No," he granted, "but it will be a damn sight more interesting that omnivorous kale"

"Cabbages…"

"Them too, come on, stop dawdling." He plucked at her sleeve and skittered ahead, holding the greenhouse door ajar magnanimously, then tweaking the ends of her hair when she stepped past him. He laughed when she growled at him and slid the door shut, sealing them in the steamy atmosphere of the tropical house. He was bold enough to put a hand on the small of her back where her shirt had already started to stick to her clammy skin, moving easily in step with her along the narrow path between the lush vegetation to the study pod at the end. She shifted her shoulders, uncomfortable at his propriety and the way her brain just checked out the moment he touched her.

A ticklish memory from her time with Olivander slipped through the fingers her memory and lurked behind the sensation of Cedrics touch. It was still there, gentle and unassuming, even though they had slowed to a stop and were awaiting the Professors attention. Something about wands, something about wand wood being alive even after reaping and, moreover, something about vines in particular.

Professor Sprout was stooped over a workbench holding a flat square pan of grey sand. Nevilles wand was seated tipped up slightly away from her, gleaming under a harsh spotlight, while the Professor picked at it with a small pair of fine tweezers.

"Excellent condition Longbottom, considering everything…" she praised him. He smiled nervously, intent on his wand and what the Professor was doing.

"See here the vine is so embedded in the wood grain that it can be barely distinguished from the original wandwood. Do you have your Mothers wand?" She tsked when Neville shook his head, shoulders bowed under the weight of his memories. "The vine is probably the only reason this still works at all you know," she said brightly oblivious to her students doom clad expression. "What starts out as a shield can grow to be stronger than…"

Hermione turned furiously to Cedric, "is this really necessary? Can't you see it's killing him?" She stepped away from Cedrics side, moving to put a hand on Nevilles shoulder. Cedrics mouth flattened into a thin line and he pulled at the knot in his tie, flipping open the top button for something to do. Neville took a shuddering breath and glanced furtively behind her.

"Can you tell what species it is?" Cedrics quiet voice filled the space. "The vine," he clarified " what sort is it?" Hermione stared at Nevilles wand, the faint imprint of leaves, pendulous flowers and a curling stem stood out like silvery scars. It was covered in swirls, tip to butt lovingly encased in its symbiote, looking more like an ornate decorative piece than a functioning magical artefact.

"Oh erm Woodbine, common honeysuckle, sweet little thing actually, probably could get a sport off it if you wanted to Neville? Just scrape away a little of the bark…..wouldn't bring them back of course, but…."

"Thanks, Professor." Nevilles voice steadied, "I'd like that."

"Might not be magical," Professor Sprout carried on as if he hadn't spoken, reaching for moss, a clay pot and snicking open a wickedly sharp knife, proceeding to wave it about. Hermione took a nervous step back. "Just something to remember them by…." The Professor stopped suddenly, eyeing Hermione altogether too shrewdly for her liking before swivelling to face Cedric.

"You said there was another?" she queried.

Cedric nodded slowly towards Hermione.

"Woodbine?" The Professor enquired brightly, "we might be able to cross it with Nevilles and…"

"I'm not sure," Hermione frowned, "I don't think it's the same." She offered her wand grudgingly for inspection.

"Oh no," said the Professor, eyes suddenly twinkling. "Not the same at all." She turned it end over end. "This is vine through and through. Careful with it mind. Doesn't always play nicely with others, this one."

Cedric made a hollow sound that might have been a laugh. "Not Woodbine then?"

"No, not at all. Woodbine needs a scaffold, see?" said the Professor enthusiastically warming to her subject. "This one is strong enough all by itself, rare to see it bind to something else, only seen it once in all my years," she said thoughtfully. "Very strong the bound wand was. Strong enough to complete a spell cast even though the recipient was dying. There's a book on wandlore in the library that mentions it." She frowned at Hermione thoughtfully and Hermione belatedly remembered a turned down page, but that wasn't a book about wandlore per se.

Cedric shuffled his feet, amused by his inability to finish that particular book. He missed the next exchange and was buffeted by Hermione leaving the greenhouse at speed.

"What did I miss?" he said wondering. Professor Sprout was busy excising a node and sliver of cambium layer from the tip of Nevilles wand, exposing a dull green streak that oozed a sickly sap. She bound the removed sliver swiftly to a matching slash in a stocky vine, dressing the wound with moss and something that looked like spiders webbing, before pegging the whole thing against damp soil in the clay pot and covering it with a clear plastic bag.

Neville cupped the back of his neck with his palm. "Um, I think the Professor just called Hermiones wand a tart."

Professor Sprout laughed like a naughty schoolgirl. "Olivander might be an old goat, but he has never failed to match a wand to the wielder. Her vine is a Rubus-Passiflora cross I think, it's a good pairing with the dragon heartstring. Fire and the means to bind it." She smirked at Cedrics nonplussed expression. "Didn't get it near yours did you?" She asked darkly, raising her eyebrows. "Bramble and Passionflower," she clarified. "Best hang up your hat if you have, if there is one thing they don't do, it's share."

Cedric smiled back weakly, displaying the now familiar ridge on his wand. Professor Sprout tutted though her teeth like a mechanic inspecting a particularly nasty dent. The words shield and share rattled around his head like a pair of die at craps.

"It won't come off," he said flatly.

"Course not, stupid boy. And why would you want it to? Think something like this can be undone like that." She snapped her grubby fingers under his nose.

"Freely given?" she enquired sharply, her face relaxed into smiles again as Cedric considered, then nodded firmly. Her wand had been all over his as soon as she had launched herself across the library table, especially if one ignored the coercion running up to it. "It's a rich gift. Course you might not see it like that to start with." She slapped him smartly on the shoulder.

He gaped at her, "you mean it really won't come off?"

"Not without destroying your wand, now the ring is complete." She showed him the tails of the ring so snug together, it looked they had never been apart. "If you had come before…if you had really wanted to be free of it" she shrugged her shoulders eloquently. "Maybe…" She gave Nevilles wand back to him. "Off you go now, come back in a week to see how the strike is taking if you like. Both of you…." She finished, herding them before her out of the sticky atmosphere.

"Cedric?" she called suddenly, when he turned back Professor Sprout was frowning. "Hermione has a book she should share with you. Ask her, she'll know the one." He nodded solemnly and added it to the list of points for discussion under the orb and above the keystone.

The two boys walked silently back to the main building.

"I won't say anythin'," Neville hedged when the silence between them became oppressive.

"It's ok Nev." He injected lightness into his tone as a prelude to pillaging for information. So who are you going to the Gala thing with?" He slung an arm companionably across Nevilles shoulders. Despite the disparity in their ages, the younger boy was almost as tall as him.

"Ginny said she'd take me on account of really wanting to go," the words tumbling out, "although I know she wanted Harry to, he was going to ask Cho."

Cedrics hands curled into fists, "and Hermiones going with Ron?" He felt vaguely sick and thought that was bad enough until Neville told him who she was really going with.

0.0

Hermione stopped when she reached the stone circle, out of breath and mortified beyond belief. She held up her wand and squinted at the vine. Sure enough, there was a pale oval on the main stem where a tendril had been pulled away from its parent.

"What did you do?" she hissed at her wand. The wand raised a leaf on either side.

"Is that a shrug? Are you shrugging at me?" One of the leaves pointed at her

"Oh no, you are not blaming this on me. At no point was I wound around Cedrics wand!" She stopped short, feeling ridiculous as her mind resupplied her in vivid detail of parts of herself wound around his face. She slapped her forehead with a palm in remembered embarrassment. "I need a wandlore book," she said under her breath, "and I need it now!" She slumped back against the largest of the stones, making a disgusted noise when it canted away from her.

An eagle owl called shrilly and Hermione looked up to the Owlery. She shoved the wand up her sleeve and started up the steep, stone stairs. There would be quill and ink on a lectern inside and it would allow her to access a living, breathing library on wands and their foibles. She started drafting the enquiry in her head, this might take a while to get right without embarrassing the crap out of herself.

She stopped at the quarter landing at the top of the stairs, staring down across the black lake. Past the Durmstrangs strange vessel, something whipped the surface water into whirlpools of differing sizes, eddies connected them with one another and looked for all the world like watery crop circles.

The ant like figures of Cedric and Neville strolled into view, walking in step and she shrank away, out of sight. Neville must be talking she thought, his hands were animating his conversation. Cedric seemed attentive, but strangely tense and he shoved the younger boy away in what was probably horseplay. They continued on towards the main building albeit with a little more space between them than before.

Hermione ducked into the doorway, grimacing at the unfamiliar skulking and feeling not a little trapped. There was only one way in and one way out of the eyrie. She put it out of her mind and set to composing her missive whilst trying to breathe as little as possible, the ammonic stench alone was enough to peel paint. She _evanescoed_ three before she felt satisfied that she had got her point across without incriminating herself and settled on one of the schools barn owls to deliver it. She held up the address to the birds beady eyes before tying it to an outstretched claw. The owl shrieked once and hopped awkwardly to the landing platform, bobbed once and heaved itself into the air.

0.0

A/N The original vine in Celtic tree lore is the Bramble, not the grape vine. I think it fits Hermione to a 't.'

Kudos if you remembered the bumblebee from earlier!

Geez, how to summarise this stuff, ok here goes.

The Vine wand - has a mind of its own. Vine wands are special and endow their users with special abilities. They are possessive of their users partners, are rare and new ones have been banned, but Hermione got one anyway

The orb - originally a headpiece for a wizards staff, was a love token from Helen to Snape. It will display the thoughts of whoever is holding it. It is failing.

The new batch of Twins potion - has an interesting side effect

Hermione - is just about keeping up with the Vine maturing, most teachers are trying to help her do this.

Cedric - wants in Hermiones pants and more. He might get it.

Helen - is dead, its not clear who did what. Some of her is in the willow, some in the orb

Snape - is trying to help. His wand is damaged from his frolics with Helen and he wants Lilys memories

Lily - is dead and so is her wand, but dead wands tell tales

Dumbledore - was having an affair with James and is doomed to disappointment with Snape. Don't let anyone bite you there, ever. Sitting, standing, walking, running, that shit hurts.

Minerva - was carrying a torch for Snape and broke her sisters wand after her death

Sprout - has green thumbs and a stash of pot

Minerva - was carrying a torch for Snape. Now its more likely to be a flamethrower

Firenze - is teaching Hermione advanced classes in Foretelling and Astral Physics

Luna - spends a lot of the time in the Forest

Olivander - was up to no good and is being distracted by the thought of making his name

Ron - has indigestion

Viktor - is taking Hermione to the dance, his patronus is a bear

Harry - whos Harry? Only kidding...anyone interested in Harry? Mmhm. See you next weekend.

I'd be really interested in your thoughts on the line, 'fire, water, salt' - you know what that is right. DevApp, you know I'm looking at you? Nods...

If you have questions and don't want to leave a review, PM me k? I'm on GMT, so it might take me half a day to reply if you are Stateside.

x


	13. Chapter 13

A/N JK Rowling gave us Goblet of Fire, I give you reading material you would be embarassed by, if someone was reading over your shoulder.

"You'll never guess!" Ron slumped onto the bench seat beside her. Hermione scowled and pulled her robes and skirt out from under him, before returning to her place in the book on the table. "I turned a mouse into a matchbox and then back into a –"

"Merkin," interjected Harry

"It had a tail," Ron adopted a wounded tone.

"It was flat, Ron."

"All right, all right, so I forgot about the innards.."

Hermione tuned them out, thinking instead about how she had turned a Sixth-former into a pile of goo. No restitution necessary. He was going through with the TT. He deserved it

Any minute now, Dumbledore is going to call his stupid name, Hermione thought. _The Hogwarts champion is…_ it still came as a punch to the gut. _Cedric Diggory…_He looked so bloody cheerful, did anyway, until he caught her eyes, then he dipped his head and she couldn't see what he was thinking. She hoped he was thinking about earlier. She gave him a slow clap, which was drowned by the enthusiastic applause all around her.

0.0

Someone tweaked her plait, she didn't bother to look around, it was enough that her wand had stirred up her sleeve and was even now eking a leaf out her cuff. She thought the Library would be safer than the carrel, it was at least a little more public, although come to think of it, the studious were thinner on the ground than they had been. She shook off the thought that she might be bordering dangerous territory simply through his company, all the situation called for was a modicum of decorum and besides, there was work to do.

"You should see this," she said, frowning and keeping her finger on the page.

A hand that could have rested on the back of her chair rested on her shoulder instead and the thumb brushed over the back of her collar. A thumb that was long enough to sneak over the top and rub directly against the back of her neck, right where the stress from hunching over a book was.

She put a hand up to rub her own neck, scratch over the shivers and pushed his hand away in the process.

"Bolts too tight?" He teased.

She made a point of ignoring his conversational tone and covered the back of her neck with her hand. "See, here where it says about a 'Bound Wand'?"

Cedrics face came level with her own and with it, a warm front of scent. It reminded her of his practice jersey, tucked safely under her pillow with a vanishing charm over it.

"_Hogwarts is the only place where a 'whomping willow' may be found. Believed to have been planted by one of the Founders, its dangerous nature only became apparent when a student was fatally injured by the tree, and a second saved only by his bound wand and the residual ability of an amber orb." _

Hermione turned to face him and scooted her chair back a bit, he was always so close that it was hard to take in his face as a whole, instead she found herself focusing on his ear. It was safer than his mouth, until that too started looking biteable.

"They only knew it was dangerous after it was planted? Something happened to make it dangerous later more like, why put it near a school otherwise? Doesn't say who either of the students were, does it say what year? Why are you looking up bound wands anyway?" Cedric said nonchalantly, his fingers flipped the page backward and forwards, looking for more, before letting it fall. Hermione watched his fingers tap a tattoo on the desktop, then retreat to his pants pocket. She looked sharply away from below his belt line.

"I was looking up the Willow and the bound wand bit was there. Why am I looking up..?" Hermione eyed him suspiciously. "Professor Sprout left me this, – " She lugged a book from the floor to the desktop and dragged it open. The cover made a soft whumpf sound as it flopped on top of her Hogwarts, A History.

_Passiflora are extremely physical with selected hosts and will twine about another enthusiastically. This is no cause for alarm and will encourage tandem efficacy. Care must be taken to separate the wands post event so that tendrils are not torn away from the parent stem or dragged away from a peer wand which can be both traumatic and damaging. In these cases the wound on the donor vine will appear pale for up to three months, but will eventually darken to its original colour. There is no noticeable lasting damage other than the scar and the wands ability is not affected in any way, but it may function erratically for a short period if the separation has been forced. _

_The exception to this, in particular circumstances relating to tendril separation, is during domestic interactions of a personal nature, where a more permanent bond is desired with the partnering wand. See further information on bound wands under notes on seekers, divining, binding and life-pairs. Ref#152_

"Have you finished reading yet," Hermione started in exasperation when Cedric didn't say anything. "The reference is for another book, 'Advanced Wandlore, the illustrative guide to wand behaviour.' I sent an owl to Olivander asking him for the extract, but you know what I think?" Hermione paused to let Cedric join her train of thought, but when he didn't, she carried on anyway. "It doesn't say it's a Guild book, so I think there might be a copy here somewhere."

"You know what I think?" Cedric cleared his throat to take the edge off the huskiness. He was blocking her exit and looked like the last thing on his mind was looking for another book.

"There is a separate entry for _Rubus_, but the page is ripped out," she interrupted. "It looks like its trying to regenerate, but there's only about this much of it next to the spine." Her fingers showed a gap of about an inch. "There's nothing for the two _genus_ together," finally her gaze snagged on his, his intent, clear on his face.

"Cedric, wait!" But his hands were already cupping her jaw and she knocked them away in irritation as she rose.

"Now." He insisted. "You keep disappearing on me, I never get to-"

"I need to see the Willow," she countered.

He started to smile, mischief lightened the low pitch of his voice, aimed at keeping the conversation between themselves. "We. It's dangerous," he added as her face took a stubborn turn. His hands settled for the tops of her arms. _And secluded._

"Don't be ridiculous, you don't have to come. I'm perfectly-" The brush of his lips against hers derailed her thought process. She tried to say "fine," but when she got to the 'i' sound, his tongue took it as an open invitation and she found herself clinging to the front of his robes. She felt his appreciative hum against her fingertips and slid them down, bumping over the button ridges under his sweater until she reached the jut of his buckle. His hips pushed forward under the weight of her hand against his belt and her fingers scrabbled at the woollen layer, feeling the sharp edges of the latch. He stopped abruptly when she brushed against the front of his pants and he bit off a groan, grabbing at her hand and breathing heavily.

"You're dangerous," she hissed, her breath whistling through her teeth as she tried to push him away without dropping her gaze. Molly always said that size mattered, Hermione could now confirm for herself that size was not going to be an issue. She tried to regulate her breathing. "We should go, while there's still daylight."

"I'm dangerous? You're the one with the banned wand and the wandering hands."

Hermione went to say "_wandering hands?_" but ended up not saying anything at all and blowing out the breath that she was holding.

"I have the orb, just in case we need it." Hermione closed both books and tucked them back into her bag.

"Right. About that," Cedric started, steering her in front of him as they filed through the narrow passage of the Library.

"Viktor said that when their power waned, they were traded as trinkets." Hermione called over her shoulder. "The residual flux from being a staff headpiece made them useful for visualising ideas." She side eyed Cedric, noting the colour rising on his neck and his non-committal grunt. "I didn't think to ask him how long they would function for, but I think this one is on the blink and I've done some calculations." Just to see what he would do, she added, "I should ask Viktor, you know, to double check my findings."

"I'll double check them," Cedric replied tersely.

"He was very helpful and the design is Bulgarian"

"I don't care if its Double Dutch, I can still tell if you got it right."

"It's complicated-"

"I know what you are doing." Cedric growled and pinched her hard enough on the bum to make her jump. "I'm taking double arithmancy and tutoring the fifth year, I've got it covered, all right?"

Hermione picked up her pace, but suppressed a small smile all the same. She changed the subject as they broke into the fresh air. "Why did you enter the Tri-wizard Tournament?"

"To win," he said simply.

"That's it?"

"It's a comprehensive test of all aspects of magical ability, from mental stamina to courage in the face of the worst adversity. There are your opponents obviously, but really you are competing against yourself." He tapped his own head, "what's in here," he clarified, suddenly serious. They both tramped across the quad to the gap in the school buildings that marked the start of the larger grounds.

He sounded so much like her Father trying to cajole her Mother into sharing a round, she added, "like golf?"

Cedric let out a short bark of laughter. "There is a bit more to it than your Muggle golf."

Hermione nodded in agreement. "It's brutal. Not everyone makes it, you know Cedric. Even this year, with it being held here and how careful Dumbledore is, I'm concerned. I was reading about past tournaments and cross referenced the entrants to the relevant school rosters the following term." She said earnestly.

"Because you were bored?"

"Because I was _concerned_."

"And"

"It was stopped because in the last one, the winner was not the 'winner' so much as the last one standing."

Cedric snorted in approval. "Definition of winning if you ask me. Am I supposed to ask what happened to the others?"

"There wasn't anything that I could find about the other entrants after the Tournament, just that they were listed as having left the relevant school in the roster for the following term."

"So they gave up magic after flunking the Tournament," Cedric shrugged.

"I think they gave up more than magic," Hermione said doggedly.

"You're just worried your wand won't have anyone to play with."

"I'm serious," Hermione said crossly.

"You're always serious," replied Cedric as they hit the bottom of the hill. "Leave your bag here. Do it, drop it," he urged, mischief making his eyes sparkle. He bounced on his toes. "C'mon, race you to the top!" She sighed theatrically at the shift in his mood.

Hermione took her time dragging the strap over her head. She dropped it the same time she set off at a sprint. Adrenalin roared in her ears, acutely aware when thudding footsteps behind indicated that he had taken up the gauntlet.

"Shit!" Cedric gasped, racing after her. "Cheater," he called, gaining ground. "Rotten, dirty, dirty- fuck, you're fast. He bit his lip and saved his breath for the chase, the toes of his shoes digging into the soft turf. Half way up she was still ahead, just. He reached for her back and she felt his hand barely miss snatching at her clothing, it made her laugh recklessly and slowed her a fraction. He tap-tackled her, reaching full length so the tips of his fingers just clipped her trailing heel as he stumbled and pitched forward, barely getting a hand down to break his own fall. She came down just ahead of him, knocking the wind out of herself, but still struggling to rise. He would show no quarter, not now she had started it. The thought made her giddy.

The hand suddenly on her ankle was vice-like. "No you don't," came his panting voice, exhilarated. She pushed cruelly at his knuckles with the sole of her other shoe and he hissed at the scrape on his skin, dragging himself up, not letting go. "Will you stop already," he growled, flinging himself forward and crushing her beneath him. "Say Uncle."

She shook her head, wriggling to free herself and trying not to laugh herself silly at the way his weight on her made her feel. He used the leverage of his toes against the sod to push further up, grinning at the sensation of her giggling under him. "Uncle, say uncle," he insisted, reaching for her ribs.

"Cedric!" she tried to say, but the words caught in her throat when his weight distribution changed again and his thigh dropped between her own. The sensation forced a moan from her lips and her butt rotated against him. He dropped his forehead onto her shoulder and pressed his hips forward with a jerk.

"Kit!" he whispered urgently against her ear as she circled again. "Wait, wait," he moaned into her neck, urging her to turn with his hands, trying to raise himself on his knees to give her space to move. Her hands dragged at his clothing, pulling him out of his robes and forcing his sweater over his head and inside out to get his arms free. She warmed her hands against the planes of his back and hooked a heel over the back of his knees. His mouth found her jaw, his breath warming her on the inside as much as the sensation of his teeth on her skin sparked the heat on the inside.

"I want," he grunted, forcing her arm and then the second above her head, clamping them there with one hand. He ignored the cool slip of the vine against his skin, looping once around his wrist and once around hers like a manacle.

"I want," she echoed him, bucking to reach the part of him he held away from her.

"What do you want?" he groaned into her collar, rocking his thigh heavily in substitute.

"I want you to pull out of the Tournament," she whispered.

He froze, then smiled into her hair and shifted his hips, "is that what this is about?" He waited until he got a breathy moan in reply. "For the record," he panted, "I never pull out" and swooped to claim her lips. Pin sharp prickles broke through the smooth bark of the vine around his wrist and he broke off the kiss with a shocked gasp.

"Kit?" He released her hands and made to move off her.

It took her a moment to catch her breath. She tipped her head back to see what he was looking at. "I'm not doing anything," she said in wonder and then sharply, "pack it in!" Beads of blood smeared as the vine retracted sluggishly.

"What the hell?"

Hermiones reply was diverted by the sound of wind rushing through the leaves on the tree at the top of the hill.

"_S-s-s-s-i-s-s-s-s-t-e-r"_

A/N Dang cockblocking wand

Merkins are wigs, sort of.


	14. Chapter 14

A/N JK Rowling created the alohomara charm for opening things. If it came with a warranty, what I did with it probably voided it. If you already knew what the spell does and you are thinking what I am thinking you are thinking, you guys are way dirtier than I am.

"It's possible," mused Trelawney, pushing her enormous spectacles back up her nose. "There would have had to be a trigger, perhaps the orb drawing power along with the desired images and then signalling? It's only a hypothesis of course, but the orbs are really very poorly understood and treated like toys. Visioning is an art you know," she defended her craft. "Presenting from the spirit world takes great deal of power, mind, so it would have to be worth her while – what's in it for her I wonder?"

"I know it's _possible_! She's not exactly _in_ the spirit world is she? I'm telling you, she was there, in my rooms. Longbottom saw her last night," McGonagall paced back and forth across the Turkish rug covering the small open space in the Tower, "I've never had to _obliviate_ a student before in my entire teaching career!"

Trelawney rifled under the long cloth over the circular table between them and extracted a clear crystal ball and shiny ebony stand. She set one atop the other and gave the clear glass a swift flash over with her sleeve to brush off the lint. "Did she say anything? Anything at all?"

McGonagall clicked her tongue in annoyance, "no! I thought it was Peeves and his pet Boggart mucking about until I realised I could hear her..ugh it doesn't matter. She is_ here_. Spare me the theatricals, just tell me what she is up to. What is she doing now?"

"Manifesting, I think, although I've never seen it done quite that way before" said Trelawney dreamily, entirely focused on the ball clouding up in front of her. She huffed on it gently.

"My rooms again?"

"No, I can see a hill, there's someone there."

"Who?"

"Two actually, ahhh, he's eating her face. So like his father in his day, promiscuous little bar steward, never could decide if he wanted to be a bottom or a top. Oh, I think they're errr, didn't know they were a couple…hmm, maybe not so much like his father then if she's got ahem, a hold of him. Well, that clears up a few things, oh my eyes, no, no, it's all right, they're stopping. Get up! Get up!" Trelawney flapped her hands in agitation. "It's behind you!"

In the ball, the mist drew back exposing more of the scene below. Lozenge shaped, pale green, willow leaves fell in a steady stream from the tree at the top of the hill, tumbling and turning down the hill in a breeze that stirred nothing else. Just yards from two prone figures, a humanoid figure coalesced, painfully slowly, from the feet upwards.

"Sybill, WHO is on the hill?" Even without the answer, McGonagalls stomach was already dropping.

"Hermione and Diggorys boy," Trelawney clicked her fingers, "Sidney."

Trelawney looked up myopically from the ball, just in time to see McGonagalls horrified face and her pulling out her wand to disapparate.

"You'll need a coat!" called Trelawney. "It's going to rain!" She frowned at the flurry of air that marked her colleagues passing and waved a hand at the fringe on the rug, which dutifully straightened itself before she turned again to the crystal.

"Wow, I never saw Helens do that," she whispered to the empty room. The conversation going on in the sphere sounded like the faint, high-pitched squeaking of a wheelbarrow, pushed protesting, over rough ground. She pulled an ancient hearing trumpet from the squat bookshelf beside her and bent it into a 'C' shape. Placing the narrow end on the sphere and settling her ear as close as possible to the flared end, she could both see _and_ hear.

0.0

"What the hell?" Cedric watched the ribbon of leaves fall into place, two feet, ankles, shins and knees. The leaves in place twitched and shivered, jostling their neighbours to find the best fit and even then they were never still, building upwards to the suggestion of thighs and hips. He sucked briefly at the torn flesh on his wrist, lapping away his own blood.

"S-s-s-i-s-t-e-r," a wave of sound rippled over the grass, temporarily disturbing the building figure.

Cedric scrambled to his feet, pulling a breathless Hermione up and stepping purposefully between her and the figure. "Me?" she gasped.

Cedric watched in silence as the orb rolled past them. The figure of a white hare raced inside it, occasionally spinning the whole way over before flying at full stretch again to power the orb up the hill. A leafy hand scooped it out of the grass and settled it on a stalky neck. The ribbon of leaves dwindled away, furnishing the figure with a full head of persistently unsettled 'hair.'

Hermione elbowed Cedric out of the way and pointed her wand. The Vine coiled around Hermiones hand forming a full guard between the butt and the rest of the rod. Prickles emerged across the external surface, each with a razor sharp, reddish tip across it and magic earthed between the rod tip and each of the pickles in turn. Cedric stepped to one side to pass her again, but she mirrored his movements and briskly snapped the fingers of her left hand. He offered his left hand, palm uppermost, steadying himself for the tug of magic that didn't come. He could feel the hum of magic buzzing under her skin, so much more than when they had worked in tandem and already easily the match for any of his peers.

The hare in the orb flattened weirdly against the curve of the sphere, morphing into a womans face that smiled in genuine delight and was oddly familiar.

"I don't think so," Cedric said softly.

"Daughter, rest, I am not your enemy," the figure gestured to Hermiones wand and continued, "you out do me. Never was I able to conjure my wand so versatile a weapon." Hermiones' wand tip bobbed with her indecision and Cedric placed a warning hand on her shoulder. The figures gaze flicked to the boy behind her, and the ring on his wand by her ear.

"I so loved," the orb jerked in a nod and then the figure pointed directly to Cedric.

"Daughter?" Hermione whispered, "the bound wand, there was a Vine-wielder with the bound wand, you?" The figure dropped its arm in a sinuous motion, the face saddened.

"S-severus, so hard he tried to keep me, indecision his only misdeed. We Women of the Vine are so strong in life, we draw others to us unknown, we are shield and strength for our souls, speakers and seers for the lost. We share to our cost and men have jealous minds."

Hermione shifted uncomfortably, "he's with me," but she couldn't bring herself to speak the lie, _I trust him._

"More than men," the figure corrected sardonically. "Your suitors are many, the man who mourns the living and is not yet a man also loves, in his way. He would not bring you to salt and would not have you mourn alone. You have bound, but yet you bargain, time is short. He comes." The figure closed its eyes and smiled again, gesturing once more to Cedric. "See inside the man who waits for you."

"You're speaking in riddles, I don't understand!" Hermione growled, frustrated, see inside Cedric – what was that supposed to mean? "What happened to your wand? Is it the same as mine?"

"Knowledge is faster thus," the figure reached out a leafy mitten that separated into fingers. For the first time, the figure looked to be a hurry, waggling the fingers in invitation.

Hermione hesitated, to touch it, she would have to give up Cedric. His presence was a solid warmth behind her, the grip of his fingers bit into her shoulder, but he loosened the weave of their joined fingers, allowing her to choose.

"Ah, s-s-s-i-s-t-e-r," the leaves on the willow hissed.

Robes flapping in the rising wind, McGonagall stormed up the hill and wasted no time in striking first, narrowly missing the students. "_Incendio!"_

Flames licked over the figures hair as the second shot shredded a shoulder in a shower of leaves. "Don't you touch her, Witch! You will take nothing more from me!" McGonagall fumed. "I banish you with fire," ball after ball of flame tore through the figure rapidly reverting to a ribbon and twisting its way at head height, back up the hill to the Willow. The ashes where they formed were not allowed to fall, but were whisked away, spread to the four corners of McGonagalls fury.

"Move!" McGonagall howled at Cedric and Hermione, her speed slowing as the hill and a legacy of tobacco took their toll.

Cedric reacted first, spinning Hermione out of harms way so that she had to clutch at him to keep upright. The next fireball caught the orb full on, knocking it from what remained of the figures shoulders.

"Leave!" McGonagall urged, dismantling the figure limb by limb. The orb rolled unseen, uphill, to nestle in a hollow at the foot of the willow.

Cedric needed no further prompting and dragging Hermione closer, stated a destination firmly and broke the rules about disapparating without a licence.

0.0

"I scatter you with air," McGonagalls voice was a rasp in Trelawneys ears, who spoke the words in tandem with her friend. McGonagall ripped sod from the ground and plunged her fingers in the soil, "I bind you with earth." Trelawney looked wildly about her and in the absence of anything better, stuffed her hand in a bowl of pot pourri. "I cleanse you from this life, into the next with water," McGonagall choked on tears, dropping to her knees as the rain began to fall. In the Tower, water from a carafe dripped off Trelawneys nose.

There was a stillness and then the hint of a voice whispering sibilantly, shaking the leaves on the Willow where the branches creaked and stretched, "s-s-s-i-s-t-e-r." The windows in the Tower rattled like someone was trying to get in.

"There should be three!" squeaked Trelawney, stuffing her hands in her mouth.

"Three," repeated McGonagall, swiping at her cheeks, "there must be three. I will see you into the next world yet, sister dear."

The smallest suggestion of a peal of laughter touched Trelawney. Something scritched against the window panes, sounding like briars in the wind and she snatched the hearing trumpet from her crystal ball and threw it across the room.

0.0

The first thing Hermione did, when they apparated in the fifth floor corridor, was clout him.

"You idiot! She raged, "we could have been splinched, or worse! What were you thinking? What if I couldn't keep up? What if we were thinking of different Rooms of Requirement!"

"There's only one Room of Requirement. Are you going to be sick? It gets people that way sometimes, the first time. I was thinking about you not being incinerated by your head of house," he reached a hand towards her hair, nonchalantly suffering her wrath, the only time he flinched is when she aimed for his face. She tried to read his expression, it looked studious except for his mouth that curved around his words and looked like it was having too much fun without her. "Or being possessed by whoever is in the willow, I think I know who that is, she never talks about her, but McGonagall is a twin-, was a twin." He ducked for the next blow and reached for her hair again and she slapped his hand away.

"Geez, I don't know how Ron stands it, poor git. You have something in your-"

"Ron? He- Stop touching me!"

"Hair." He plucked out the remains of a willow leaf, charred at one end, yellow and spotted with age across what was left of it. He held it up for her inspection. "Helen."

"What?" Hermiones face screwed up in confusion. Here she was, trying to express her frustration at his gross stupidity and here he was, conducting a conversation as if nothing at all was the matter.

"Who. Helen is who is in the tree," Cedric grinned. "McGonagalls twin, she said you had bound my wand and you know what that means."

"No, not really." Hermione eyed his face suspiciously, "but you do, don't you?"

"It means I know that McGonagall knows about Vine wands," he said. Hermione thought he sounded shifty and like he was subtly changing the subject.

"Did you take that page from Advanced Arboreal-"

"No! Maybe. Take is such a strong word." He fidgeted.

"Cedric," she poked him in the chest, hard enough to make the shirt wrinkle under her finger. One of them would have to go back for his sweater and robes.

"Ow," he said deadpan, his gaze fixed on the blush racing up her neck.

"Where. Is. The. Page?" she punctuated with pokes that got slower as his smile widened with each touch. The smug swine was enjoying this.

"Snape has it."

"Severus? Wait, the willow said that she so loved, she bound a wand, Professor Snapes wand? But his wand doesn't have a ring."

"First name terms, well aren't you two cosy. Snapes wand has a bridge, ever wondered why?

"What else do you know that you're not telling me?" Hermione fumed.

Cedric pulled at the knot of his tie. "You bound my wand." He looked up and down the corridor.

"Something I don't know!"

"I am. You bound my wand, what you did, not your wand. Sprout said a Vine will try anything on for size, but they don't stick, not usually, not unless the person on the end of the wand wants it to."

"Yours stuck," Hermione said stupidly, mesmerised by the thin tail of his tie slipping under his collar.

"And another thing, I always finish what I've started."

"Finish? Started?" He was undoing his cuffs, Hermione had a niggling feeling that she might just have taken things a little too far. His determination that she would not escape him on the hill made her pulse pound.

"The Room of Requirement is right behind you." He reached behind his neck and gripped the collar there, drawing it swiftly over his head so the back of his hair stood up like a cocks comb.. The shirt pooled on his wrists and he shook his hands free and flicked it to drape it over a bare shoulder.

His skin was pale and there was suddenly a lot more of it in front of her than she had bargained for. "So?" She tore her gaze from the deep pink of his flat nipples.

"We require it." He backed her up and when her heel hit the door, he reached smoothly around her and gripped the handle. "I'm going to make you see stars."

"The astronomy tower is in the other wing." She watched him wait while realisation settled over her expression, before pushing the door open, away from them.

He dropped his face close to her ear, "you know how to show yourself, right?"

The door clicked shut behind him hustling her through the doorway, leaving the corridor in silence again. Arch by arch, the curved lintel faded back into the masonry. The door handle shifted sharply, as if something had been pushed heavily against it on the other side and then it too vanished.

0.0

Snape looked up at his closed doors. Whoever was hammering was doing so hard enough to disturb rust from the hinges. The handle turned. Only two people would be brave enough or foolish enough to beard him in his lair and he was quite certain that he didn't want to deal with either of them.

"So help me Severus, if you don't let me in, I'll tell Mrs Norris you stole her catnip and-" the door flew open to expose a soaked McGonagall.

"And?" Snape muttered dryly

"-smoked it."

"A fate worse than death, indeed." He waved her inside and shut the door, leaning against it.

"Where is Helens wand?"

"You mean, the parts of Helens wand."

"Don't split hairs with me Severus, if she came to see me, she came to see you first."

Snape pinched the bridge of his nose and squeezed his eyes shut. He never quite got over how similar her intonation was to her dead twin, it was more exact the more irate Minerva became, even the phrasing was the same.

"There's nothing for her here. Olivander has the two pieces of the rod safely locked away, I was just there and he showed me because I couldn't leave without seeing them again and knowing they were safe. Dumbledore had me check with Amos about the base of the Vine in his strongroom. I was there on another matter anyway. He says it hasn't so much as twitched in years, it's quite dead. Dumbledore was worried that as Hermione came of age, it would awaken and become viable again. Nothing."

"There's you. And the top?"

"The part you kept?"

"The part I gave to Pomona to give to you."

"I never got it." Snape regarded the handsome woman before him steadily. "Where did Pomona get the first cutting from to start experimenting with Vines?"

0.0

George strolled into the dorm room and Fred rose swiftly to greet him.

"Here, shake my hand." Fred stuck his hand out.

"Woah, that's a bit bloody strong isn't it?" George was speaking, but Freds mouth was moving and Freds voice coming out.

"Yeah well, it's different, there's something extra in it."

"What was it?"

"Dunno, I told Cedders about the zombie problem we were having and he nicked a mouse off Crookshanks and grew an ear on its back – how cool is that? You know, because bits keep falling off. Anyway, he asked about the original recipe, so I showed him and he added got something out of his stash. Looked a bit like Lacewing, the bottle had a pair of cherries on the label so I'd know it again."

"We need to know, he could hold us to ransom over it, we might have to give him a cut." George pulled the waistband of his pants away from his body and peered into the gloom. "Why did I not know that you're bigger than me?"

"Oy!"

"Do you use something? We're supposed to be identical twins, but obviously not below the waist if you're using something. It feels the same, only bigger. How do you feel about converting the Casino into a Joke Shop – the ears would be great for it too and if we can make enough of this new batch of potion it would be a massive hit – imagine selling it to couples for foreplay."

"Stop stroking it! That's weird! Here, shake my hand before this wears off. Ugh, no, use your other hand you plank, that's disgusting."

Both Twins swayed drunkenly as they clasped hands for the second time.

"What the hell am I supposed to do with this? I've got Divination next and Trelawney will think her luck is in."

0.0

Cedric had caged her against the door, her fingers fluttered against the sparse hair on his chest and she could feel his nipple rise under the heel of her hand. She had been in here before, with Harry under entirely different circumstances. Hermione remembered the room being bigger, endlessly stacked with piles of unknown treasures and blazing with lanterns. This room was lit with guttering candles, artfully placed just out of sight of the canopied bed that dominated the space.

"Show yourself," he insisted.

"We're not supposed to. Molly said unless-," she hedged. The wand edged into her hand, the Vine contorted into a swept hilt and elongated quillions when she pointed the tip at his chest.

"Molly? Molly Weasley?" For a moment he looked nervous. "Shit, I bet you know some stuff. I dare you. Double dare you, break the rules," he teased, then suddenly quiet as he pressed Hermiones wand tip closer to his bare stomach. "I'll go first, you can do it, not too much or you'll blow a hole right through me and this will end rather messily, well not how I had intended anyway."

Hermione swallowed nervously, his tension thrummed through her wand and up her arm. "_Homo_ _alohomora_" Magic raged through his body from the single point that she touched him, burning through layers of resistance. He sucked in his cheeks to stifle a groan, he felt like a human torch. Getting off was never going to feel so good.

She thought nothing had happened until he wiped a hand over his face, his brows were heavier, eyes keener and bright with anticipation. His cheek bones stood out more, oddly balancing the sharper definition of his jaw and his bottom lip was redder, plumper. He was taller too, Hermione realised and had filled out his gawky frame. This is what he would look like in person in a few years if he ever made it through the Tournament, when his body had aged as far as his magic had progressed to date.

"Do I pass?" His mouth smiled, but his eyes were serious. He still had hold of her wand and bent the tip so that it tickled under her chin.

"Don't blow your head off," he whispered conspiratorially and kissed the corner of her mouth, reaching to rest his other hand on her hip, "I can't wait to see."

Cold heat peeled back the layers that made her look younger than she could and he watched fascinated as her wrists became more slender, following the changes with his eyes. A narrower waist, fuller chest, more elegant neck and delicate jawline. Her cheekbones stood out above a bow shaped mouth and her hair redefined her entire look, close cropped, curved against her skull and almost boyish but not. She parted her lips and tipped her face towards him, "yes?" she replied, her face kept the elfin features, but her hair grew back again in a swathe past her shoulders.

"Yes," he echoed firmly and enfolded her in his arms, crushing her torso and curling his neck down to sweep his tongue across her bottom lip, pulling her up on tip toe to share his hunger. One of her hands struggled free and anchored itself in his hair, the other squashed between their bodies curved automatically and lightly gripped the prominence in his pants. He stole her breath with his gasp.

"I have something," he breathed, then let out a strangled, "fuck," when she squeezed to make the point that she had something too. He inched them closer to the bed.

0.0

She had lost her robes, sweater and tie, her shirt hung open and off one shoulder before she whispered, "slow down." It was strangely addictive and made her smile when her fumblings made him jump and curse. He was flat on his back half way up the bed and breathing like he was winded, craning his head up so that he could see what she was doing, but making no move to stop her. His belt buckle undid itself and he gripped the bedding with both hands.

In an urgent voice he said, "Kit? You need to stop now." He surprised himself with his restraint, wanting her to explore at her own pace, but it was slowly but surely killing his resolve that this was going to end where he had originally intended. His head reeled at the thought that he might want this again, more than he wanted something different with the endless someone elses. The last time he had felt like this was duelling, when he had only partially blocked his opponents spell, energy had scorched along his nervous system and made his hair stand on end.

"I want to see it," she said in a distracted tone and passed a thumb over where she thought the head was. She could see the movement in his thighs deforming the fabric of his pants and shifted hers in sympathy. His pants button passed through its hole and she bit her tongue. Black briefs, coarse hair that was almost as black and a thick, pale pink tip pinned down by the waistband of his underwear.

He blew out a long breath, trying to relax his stomach and shoulders, "and then what?" She would be disgusted, male genitalia is not attractive. He was desperate to adjust himself, but absurdly curious to see how far she would go. She got hold of his zipper and tugged slowly, her knuckles dragged against him and his balls tightened enough that his throat tightened and forced out a sound like a glottal stop.

Her hair swung down, loosed now and against his bare stomach. He tipped his head back and opened his mouth in a parody of a silent scream, he had never wanted to jack off so badly. He took a huge gulp of air when something touched the tip of his cock, "Kit….?" he said unevenly, the whole restraint thing was getting old, really fast.

She was staring at her finger tip when he looked, reaching out with a pointed tongue to taste him while her gaze flicked back to his waistband. Maybe it's like asparagus she grimaced, a taste you acquire if someone tells you it's good and so expensive that that by default you have to finish it rather than throw it away. She curled her tongue around in her mouth, saliva flooded in dousing the salty taste and his scent snuck up the back of her sinuses making her shiver.

He sat up suddenly, cupping her face and staring into her eyes, "do you even know what you are doing to me." He rolled his hips so that he could reach the back pocket of his pants and stuffed whatever he retrieved under the pillow before pushing the rest of his clothing off his body, sitting up to pull his socks off by the toes.

"Where's your wand?"

"In my robes, why?"

"Just checking," he smiled, slipping her cuff and tugging at her sleeve. She shrugged out of the shirt and he helped himself to the clasp on her bra. His mouth followed the straps slow descent and fastened on a cherry nipple. Hermiones nails scored his shoulders when his hand found the lonely partner and squeezed in rhythm with his suck.

He urged her on top of him, her skirt between them until it wasn't, losing himself in the heavy velvet texture of her breasts against his cheek. She was sitting with her heat pressed right up against the base of his cock, his fingers denting the flesh on her hips trying to quiet her rubbing motion while he worked out how to get her out of her underwear without reducing the skin contact and before she pulled all his hair out. She made it easy for him, suddenly pushing him back against the mattress as if she had made a decision and squashing her chest against his while she wriggled out of her panty hose and knickers.

She surprised the hell out of him when she reached for the foil packet stashed under the pillow. Her fingers worked the packet in her hands, the ripping noise sounded awfully loud. She batted away his hand reaching for the contents, Molly had given her and Ginny the 101 on this – the practicals on a banana had been especially hilarious in retrospect when they had had banoffee pie that night for dessert. She had choked on the pie crumb when Molly had winked at her and added extra squirty cream with a flourish.

She gripped his cock firmly in one hand, nothing like a banana, unless bananas were hot and smooth and on steroids. The skin was oddly pleasing to touch, so she rubbed a cupped hand up and down the shaft, squeezing to get a good grip when her hand got back to the bottom. He rested his palms placidly against her thighs, but he was growling in the back of his throat. She squished the teat at the top of the condom carefully and rolled it down his length with a thumb and forefinger. There was a second, maybe two before he covered her hand with his own and tipped her backwards onto the bed, their hands between them.

The pillows were at the wrong end now and she could feel the edge of the mattress on the back of her neck. Cedric hauled her back a little before driving her out of her mind. Kisses made her melt, things he did with his hips made her torso curl up towards him, sounds escaped her that made partial words while his fingers circled where his cock wanted to be. He shoved his hands under her shoulders and drove against her body, careful to keep himself outside of her.

Hermione stretched her arms over her head, groping for the pillars of the bed to avoid being shoved off the mattress when her body arched up off the bed against him waggling himself from side to side between her legs.

"Are you sure? Please say you're sure?" His cock slid heavily along the channel between her legs and she curled against him when the tip dipped in and slipped out when she moved the wrong way, the coarse hair on his pelvis struck somewhere unbearably sensitive. She huffed against his chest, flattening the base of her spine against the mattress and her knees rose to grip him harshly, "again," she whispered.

"Let me in." He ground his pelvis into her flesh, feeling it slip again her where she had made him wet. The tip of his cock dragged agonisingly against the sheets beneath them.

"No." Pins and needles sparked in her feet and burned up her legs, but she wasn't actually stopping him.

"In." He grunted rubbing against her, his face tucked into her neck feeding blindly on her skin.

"Pull out," she demanded heaving for breath. She could feel him smile, his teeth marked her neck and she marked his back in return, making him shift and hiss.

"Can't. Magical contract. Uh." Breathing was tortuous because it brushed his heated skin against hers, his cock was painfully hard and the skin around his balls was tightening in spite of his every effort.

Her open hand smacked him hard on the back making him grunt at the smarting sensation., "Liar! Not binding until you are chosen," she gasped as his next thrust got closer to not waiting for permission. When his mouth found her lips they were already open and he tickled the roof of her mouth with the tip of his tongue, each dip of his hips was making him more desperate.

"Say yes," he begged against her mouth. "I can finish it. Let me in."

"I can finish without you," she taunted through gritted teeth, gripping his torso in a bone crushing embrace and thrusting her hips upwards against the root of his cock, the head of it bumped over her perineum. Her shoulders edged over the end of the mattress. He was so heavy, if she could just…shivers rippled along her backbone and he groaned her name, making her wriggle again, because she liked the sound he made.

His hips slapped hard into the back of her thighs and she tried to say his name, but it came out as a low hiss and she wound herself closer about him. Any space between them was unbearable, he was moving, trying to change the angle. Her back arched, shoulders digging into fresh air as white heat exploded under her belly button. She twitched and jerked away from him, but his body forged forward anyway, unintentionally tipping them off the end of the bed.

They crashed to the floor in a tangle of limbs, his cock convulsing so hard into the condom that it started to slip off, while his breath hissed between his teeth.

"You're going to kill me," he groaned.

"You're going to kill yourself," she panted, waiting for the room to stop spinning before she dragged herself off the floor.

He stared up at her, naked and stunning in her afterglow. Moisture gleamed on the inside of her thighs and beaded between her legs. He watched her use his shirt to wipe herself down and throw it at him. "Something to remember me by," she said haughtily, reaching for the wand in her robes.

"Tell me," she said conversationally, gathering her clothing, "how do you know what a wand bridge is? I mean terminology-wise. I know because I interned with Olivander and you know because…?" When he didn't answer, she tossed everything she had ever considered about trusting him. The next thing she said made him think of McGonagall. "Don't take me for a fool, Cedric."

"Don't you dare disapparate," he warned, struggling to rise against the inertia of post orgasmic bliss. Every muscle burned in protest.

She raised an eyebrow at the pile of boy with a mans face, and with a devastating smile on her new face said, "Stop me!"

0.0

A/N A quillion is the sticky out bit on the cross guard of a sword. Yep, that's just what you wanted to know, right there.


	15. Chapter 15

A/N JK Rowling came up with the Triwizard Tournament. This could have happened. Maybe.

"I know because Severus told me!"

Hermione paused and arched an eyebrow. She almost took him seriously until his gaze slipped off her face and bungeed to her breasts. She folded her arms across them.

"First name terms, well aren't you cosy?" she mocked. "You'll have to do better than that."

Cedric rubbed his hand across his forehead. He looked like he was trying to gauge the distance between them. Hermione took a wary pace backwards and swung her robes over her shoulders. She watched his eyes linger on the gap at the front, before he remembered himself.

"He showed me his wand. He said it would help. You were right, Helen bound his wand. I don't know all of the details, but something went wrong when she died. His wand has a bridge because something happened to the bound part when Helen died, or didn't die." Cedric shook his head.

"A bridge can mitigate a damaged area, I saw one in a reference book where a bridge was used to bypass part of a wand badly scorched in a duel." Hermione dissected his words. "He said it would help with what?

"What?" Cedric had a hunted look in his eyes.

"You said – he said it would help. What would help?" Cedric got to his feet. Hermione took another step backwards. "What is real here?"

He gave her a coy smile, slowly reaching for his balled up shirt and began to clean himself up.

"You knew something about my wand by the time we sat together in Transfiguration, why else would you put your wand next to mine like that. You were reading something about wands and wand wood in the library, telling me there are three parts to a wand when most books say two – unless they are special interest, like for apprentices."

Cedric dragged his pants over and slipped them on. He nodded. "The core, the wood plus whoever is holding it."

"Professor Sprout said that a Bound Wand was stronger, more powerful than normal. The Willow said Vine wielders are strength and shield." She eyed Cedric shrewdly, as he nonchalantly pulled on his socks. "How long have you known the Triwizard Tournament was coming?"

She didn't expect an answer, but was not surprised to see him barely suppress a grimace as he found his shoes.

"How far was this supposed to go?" The last question came out as a whisper. She pointed her wand at him threateningly as he rose to his feet. The vine slid backwards and flattened itself over her hand and up her forearm, forming a glove like a gauntlet.

Cedrics stared upwards, it would be better this way. A clean break. Nothing could come between him and his ultimate goal. When he returned his gaze to her, his face was an impassive mask and his tone was flat. "Any advantage in the Tournament is worth it. I just needed the ring, everything else was a bonus." He offered her a cruel smile. "You're good though. You almost had me there. Don't disapparate. I'll leave and you can," he waved a hand at her partially clothed form, "whatever." He turned his back to look for his wand.

She laughed mirthlessly, "I don't think I'll being taking your advice." She pictured the sanctuary of her four poster bed in the dorm, but wasn't sure she could judge the landing and switched it to the roaring fire and the vivid tapestries of the lion and the unicorn adorning the walls of the common room. Most of all, she surrounded herself with the feeling of safety and serenity the Tower brought her.

Cedric spun back panicked as she said loudly, "Gryffindor."

"Kit, no! Fuck it!" Cedric swore as Hermione disapparated cleanly with a small snapping noise.

0.0

Cedric strolled to the head of the Great Hall, accepting the applause as his due, although he had barely earned it yet. He grinned inwardly when he saw Hermiones reaction. Good girl. She was fine. She would be fine. Krum would sweep her off her feet and make a life for them in Bavaria. The thought was oddly distasteful.

He shook Dumbledores hand and moved to stand with the other champions. He exchanged a nod with Krum and smiled weakly in reply to Fleurs beam. She was pretty in a pinched sort of way, but then he decided he didn't like the way she looked down her nose at him. Not at all like the way Hermione looked down at him, like she couldn't believe he was being so innane…or devious. "Welcome to the real world, Kit," he muttered. He couldn't pick her out from the blur of students at this distance. Not until Harry stood up and she stood up behind him, manhandling him off the bench and pointing him in the right direction. Being his strength to face whatever was coming.

Cedric locked eyes with her as Harry stumbled forwards, up the nave of the Great Hall. She flicked her eyes to Harry then back to him. She was asking him to look out for her friend. That wasn't how this worked, not in a Tournament, it could compromise everything. Besides the tests were individual, there wouldn't be much he could do. Harry looked terrified. Cedric felt sick, this was not a playground for the unprepared. He felt himself nod back. Hermione stared as if to be sure and he nodded again, more firmly. Whatever this was, it felt like reparation.

0.0

Hermione pored over an owl keeping manual, absently stirring the remains of honey and raisins in her porridge and horridly fascinated by an animated line drawing of an owl pellet unwrapping itself and the contents recreating itself in its original form – as a mouse, or frog or ugh half a bat? A particularly sleek long-eared owl called and fluttered directly above her before dropping a letter, corner first into her breakfast. She snatched it up, pinched off the offending foodstuff and stuffed in the bottom of her bag, barely glancing at the return address.

Ron looked over raising his eyebrows, "secret admirer?"

"None of your business," she snapped, suddenly jittery. "Hurry up and finish your breakfast," she huffed. "You'll be late for the first round of the Tournament." She gathered her book and swung her bag onto her shoulder narrowly missing Rons automatically ducking head and took a minute to free her hair trapped under the strap.

"Don't worry," said Harry, adding the horizontal slab to Rons toast Stonehenge and sucking the melted butter off his finger. "We've still got a few minutes."

Hermione opened her mouth to recite part of the history of the standing stones and then thought better of it. Cedric was staring at her from across the trestles, probably thinking she was preening for him and she swished her hair so that he couldn't see her face.

Harry lit his wand and moved it around the mini Stonehenge like a rising and setting sun. Ron added a sacrificial stone in the centre of the toast ring. Harry blew on the tip of his wand and flicked it like one would shake a lit match to make it go out. "What you need is a virgin," he winked, blocking out all thoughts of the Tournament.

"Wha…?" started Ron mouth open and sharing the uneaten contents with his friend

"For your Stonehenge," Harry clarified. "Here you go," he said, adding a triangular dab of marmite between the legs of a toast figurine."

"Can you do another one?" asked Ron

Harry raised his eyebrows.

Ron held up a jar of marmalade, "I'd like mine to be blonder," and then he flinched because he knew Hermione hadn't left yet and even though he had meant it as a compliment, he wouldn't be able to explain.

Nothing happened and he spun around to see why not. Cedric was staring and Hermione was making a point of ignoring him. She wasn't as unruffled as she affected though, her wand was in her hand and the Vine was lashing angrily. He had worked out that the wand was a better barometer of her moods than anything she said.

Ron tried to talk her down, "Mum always said he was a death or glory sort of bloke."

"Who?" said Hermione absently.

"Cedric. He's an adrenalin junkie. This Tournament is right up his street. Course I bet I could do it, if you like that sort of thing." Ron stuck his chest out and tried to look bigger, until Harry and Hermione both said in unison, "shut up Ron!" Harry collapsed one Stonehenge arch into another like toast dominoes.

"Hey!" complained Ron. Hermione marched off, shadowed on the other side of the Hall by Cedric.

"You could take my place anytime," Harry muttered unhappily.

Ron was silent, the kernel of something forming in his mind. "I've got a better idea."

0.0

He didn't so much walk as lope Hermione decided. No matter what speed she chose he moved fluidly with her, like a well oiled albatross. Cedric held the door open for her at the end of the Great Hall.

"Nothing to say to me, Kit?" he murmured

"Thank you. For looking out for Harry." She shot back, refusing to look him in the eye.

"Ah, Harry." He nodded. "And how is your lap dog, Ron?"

"Honest." She said sharply.

Cedrics lips twisted, "about that."

"Leave it," she said tersely. "I get it. Death or glory, right?"

"It's all I've ever wanted." He stopped, letting her walk off ahead of him. He bowed his head and stuffing his hand in his pockets, he scuffed the flagstones. "Until now," he said to himself.

"Cedders!" Ron called cheerily. Harry slipped past them and Cedric plastered a smile on his face.

"All right Ron?"

"Never better, listen mate. I've got an idea. Fred said you helped him with something the other night."

Cedric listened in disbelief as Ron laid out the bones of his plan that would allow Hermione to see Ron in the light in which he wanted.

"It's dragons. I know about dragons because of Percy. I just want the chance to show her I'm good enough for her. It's like she doesn't even see me any more. I'm just her thumping bag. Please mate. I love her enough to give up everything."

"Do you?" Cedric asked Ron, seizing him by the shoulders. And then asked himself the same question.

0.0

A/N Epi left to tie up the loose ends. I hope you have enjoyed it as much as I have.

X

Sherbs


	16. Chapter 16

A/N Posting without a second reader due to time constraints, so sorry if anything makes you go wtf? JK Rowling made Harry wear glasses, I made Ron a better person, on the inside, lolz.

Hermione unfolded the note delivered by owl at breakfast. The red wax seal was indented with the familiar open hand and lightening bolt. She slipped a thumbnail underneath it and unfolded the missive, her tread slowing as she multitasked.

She read Olivanders reply avidly. She skipped over his polite reply to the enquiry after his health and also the reply to her request for an second internment in the summer holidays, noting only that he had said yes subject to certain conditions and moved on to the more important contents.

Apparently Professor McGonagall was quite correct in testing the compatibility of her peers wands in order for her to work successfully in tandem with them. He himself recommended a native hardwood wand as a suitable match and something other than dragon heartstring as the core to prevent scorching. He also made the point that the human partner should be both steadfast and strong willed to prevent mishaps. She made a gagging noise and impatiently pushed her hair out of her eyes. Is that what the room of requirement had been? A mishap?

_Your wand is an particularly unusual Vine, I am at a loss to confess that even the Guild do not know its entire capability. Ordinarily Vine wands are sought after as partners, more than partners, but you have years ahead of you before you need worry. It would be helpful if you were to document the Vines progress as a study, perhaps even grounds for a thesis, if you chose to advance your desires for an apprenticeship. – see below. _

She heaved in a breath and let it out slowly, tracing a finger under the précis of each that he gave.

_Annulus attraction_

_Annulus (n) – little ring. Attraction (v) – drawn to. _

_Rare form of wand inter-bonding observed only with wholly vine based wands. Tendril separation during intense situations of a magical or emotional nature may result in the tendril adhering to a partner wand. _

_The tendril will adhere to the host, typically in a ring formation which will close after a period of time defined by the nature of the originating event and treatment of the resulting ring. The annulus has the benefit of further concentrating and controlling ability and force through the host wand, which is then considered 'bound'. A bound wand owner is capable of greater feats than would normally be expected from wands of a similar core, substrate and owners ability, including but not limited to those of a sexual nature. Vine wielders are rare and much sought after as a result of this unusual effect. The two wands, donor and bound, share a common aura such that one may always be found by the other._

_Removal: Undesired rings may be removed in its early stages, although depending on the attraction element, there may be some damage to the host. Partial rings may be removed by an experienced practitioner, (see also girdling) but some loss of ability should be anticipated. In the event that the ring is fully formed, (see also developmental attraction) the removal is strongly disadvised since the effect on the host of will be crippling (see also ringing). Bridges have been found to be efficacious in these circumstances, in returning some ability to the wand by by-passing the afflicted area._

"Concentrating force, enhanced performance," she muttered in disgust, refolding the parchment along its crease lines and seeing herself as Cedric might have – as a leg up that turned into a leg over. "Common aura though," she said to herself thoughtfully, then dismissed the idea of a dish best served cold.

0.0

Hermione found a seat quickly in the stands banking the arena. Ginny settled in beside her and gripped Hermiones hand nearest to her.

"He'll be ok," Hermione reassured. "Honestly Gin, he'll make it." She hoped she sounded more confident on the outside than it sounded from the inside. Ginny gave her hand a squeeze. Luna seated herself behind them and Hermione half turned so that they could talk quietly.

"Have you seen Kazym today? Have they seen anything about an outcome?"

Luna shook her head, her bright pink cheeks set off by the Gryffindor colours. She carefully crossed her legs, "not Kazym. Firenze said something about five facing fire. Did I miss something – there are still only four in the Tournament?"

Hermione nodded in confirmation, "four, only four."

"Mind out, coming through," Rons voice broke on the last syllable and he hawked and swallowed. Without bothering to wait for a path to clear, he trampled toes indiscriminately until he stopped right in front of Hermione, grabbing on to the seats in front as he lost his balance. She caught at his pants and half pushed, half pulled him so that he dropped into the seat beside her.

"What is wrong with you?" she hissed, then wrinkled her noise when she caught a whiff of him. "Dutch courage? Seriously? You're not even in the ring." He gave her look that he hoped spoke volumes, because experiencing puberty for the second time sucked donkey balls and that included not knowing what octave your voice was going to be when it came out.

She spared him a dirty look, "if you've fed Harry any of that stuff-." It was the rolling eyes that did it, he never even had to say a word to wind her up. She dragged his sleeve up so his pale, freckled forearm was exposed and expressed her irritation in the form of a chinese burn. Rons mouth dropped open in a silent surprise. It might have looked like 'ow,' it felt like a dull smarting rather than the full on friction burn, the full effect was delayed by about thirty seconds. She wasn't sure why she rubbed it soothingly when she had finished, it had never occurred to her to do so before.

He still let her take his hand when Cedric stepped into the arena, changing the grip so that the back of his hand rested on his knee and her fingers could slip between his. If she listened really carefully, it sounded like Ron was trying to advise Cedric on his every next move under his breath, even to the extent of conjuring a labrador. To Hermione, it felt for all the world as if he was clutching her hand as hard as she was his, the tugging sensation was weird though. Rons jerk backwards when dragonfire seared Cedrics face nearly ripped her arm out the socket. He wasn't the only one, the stands were abuzz with horrified gasps.

"Oh man, that's gonna hurt," he rumbled.

"Madame Pomfrey will be able to fix that," Hermione said confidently, "it's only a burn."

"Yeah, but only on the outside," Ron muttered. "It's a burn from a magical creature, it'll go all the way through. He'll wear that scar on the inside for years, I bet." Ron swallowed thickly, screwing his face up as if he was staring into the sun, unshed tears made his lashes shiny.

Hermione looked at Ron intently. He was rubbing his face in exactly the same spot that Cedric had been hit and beads of sweat stood out under his hairline. "That's what Mmmum would say anyway," he stammered under her stare and looked away to where Cedric doggedly clutched a golden egg and struggled to reach the safe haven that distance allowed.

Behind him, Luna angled her face towards Ron and closed both eyes. She put her palm across her forehead and separated the middle fingers, as if an eye could peek out between them. "Five," she whispered.

Luna leaned forwards and dropped a mostly flat, slightly curved, metal container into Rons lap. An etching on the curved surface, dulled with fingerprints, displayed the outline of a centaur with a bow at full nock so that all of the bulging muscles on the leading arm stood out. Underneath and for no more than an instant, the smudged prints wrote underneath, '_for your pain.'_ Ron held his breath, letting it out softly when Luna gently squeezed his shoulder.

Despite Hermiones disapproving stare, he slipped the cap with his thumb and took a generous swig of the contents, smacking his lips and making a great show of offering it around.

Hermiones boot knocked into his shin twice, making him hiss the second time. "Shit, you're such a mare. Chill the fuck out woman."

Hermione bashed his shoulder with the bottom edge of her fist. "Don't swear," she said huffily. "Put it away. If the Professors see, you're going to get into trouble, visitors or no visitors." He took one last rebellious draught and secreted it in his jacket.

Some time later, when Harry stepped nervously into the arena, Hermione leaned into Ron and whispered, "if you have anything left in that flask, now would be a good time to share it." He wondered if it the spirits had been available when Cedric first went in, whether she would have gone for some then too, or whether it was all too little too late.

He watched her put the flask to her lips and gulp the sweet liquid like it was lemonade. She wiped her mouth guilty with the back of her hand, squinting at the harsh fumes. "Gah, that's awful," she griped, "how on earth can you drink that stuff?"

Ron snorted and took possession of the flask again. Hermione pulled a face at him licking around the neck of it, chasing droplets, before tipping it back to savour the dregs.

Everyone shot to their feet the moment Harrys dragon shattered her chains. Hermiones hands went straight to her face, Rons went under his armpits. The shock was enough for the magical snap, as their palms parted company, to go unnoticed. Almost.

0.0

"Professor Snapes looking for you," Malfoy called rudely as Hermione and Ron left the stands.

"Thank you, owl," replied Ron brushing past him, his arm firmly around Hermiones waist. He wasn't sure how much she had drunk, only that her balance was about as good as his, in a body that wasn't his. Together though, they were doing pretty well, a bit like a three legged race pairing, but without all the strapping. He dared to step away when he realised Malfoy wasn't going to let it go.

"Not you, her. Can't imagine what he'd want with you…," Malfoy stopped, wincing. Rons heel was grating painfully hard on his instep.

Ron smoothed the shoulders of Malfoys robes, butler-like and in a menacingly low voice said. "Don't be a tit, Draco. Not if you want to make it to the end of term." Malfoys mouth opened and shut twice.

"You can't talk to me like that, my father…"

"Is here? Thought not," Ron pushed Malfoy backwards roughly, releasing his trapped foot at the last minute. Hermione pulled Ron away as Crabbe and Goyle rushed to help Malfoy off the ground.

"Are you mad?" Hermione said, staring owlishly up at him. Ron smiled as their bodies bumped together and his arm wound around her again, tucking her comfortably under his shoulder.

"Maybe," he said jovially. "Maybe quite mad. Come on, lets go and see Harry." And Cedric he thought to himself.

0.0

Hermione gritted her teeth and knocked firmly on Snapes study door.

"You can go, Ron. I'm fine now." Ron nodded absently, he was still getting used to his own body again. It was more gangly than he remembered and a lot more underdeveloped than Cedrics in the muscle department. He had several ideas for improvement and all of them seemed to require short cuts since real workouts were not at all appealing. The door swung smoothly open.

"We've been expecting you," Professor Snape drawled from the dark recesses of his study.

"We?" asked Hermione.

Snape dragged an unwilling Olivander into the pool of light from the desk lamp. "Olivander has a _request_, sneered Snape.

Hermione shut the door behind her. The lock snicked home all by itself. Hermione raised her chin and folded her arms, her Vine was strangely restless.

"My dear child," started Olivander, cringing when Snape snickered.

"Lets be open shall we?" Snape curled his lip at Olivanders display. "Olivander…and I need something from you. A particular 'skill' you alone possess."

Hermione took a leaf out of Cedrics book, "what's in it for me?"

"Very good…" Snape nodded in approval. "Perhaps your mentor was correctly chosen after all. What is in it for you….is the truth," he offered, studying her face.

"I already know about your suggestion to Cedric, to improve his chances in the Tournament," Hermione said with distain.

"Interesting," mused Snape. He fingered his wand, rubbing his thumb from side to side across the artful carving of the bridge. "A different truth perhaps."

"There isn't anything you can tell me about Cedric and his motives, that I don't already know," she announced surely.

Snapes gaze went beyond her, to the closed door. "Indeed." He lowered himself to the leather chair behind his desk and leant back. The leather creaking filled the silence.

"I know about Helen in the Willow," Hermione blurted, "you were there and something went wrong."

Snape winced as if physically struck. His wand clattered to the desk and he made no move to pick it up again. "You have the power to unlock that mystery and more. Olivander has indicated that a memory can be exposed from a wand that was there at the time, but the wand is in very poor condition. Your Vine can split the wand without damaging the core."

"It is extremely fragile," confirmed Olivander, bobbing his head. "The carved eggs you returned were the first indication I had that this might be possible without destroying what remains."

"You may refuse," Snapes flat black eyes nailed her with his honesty and pain. She realised this was as close as he could come to asking her outright, for her help.

"And if I agree?"

"It would be a learning experience for all of us," babbled Olivander. "These things have only been boasted by the Bavarians. I have the crystalline substrate to coat the core once it's exposed, I have a theorem that the core might even be interactive if we can get enough of it out intact."

Snape glanced sharply at the Wandmaker. Olivander flushed. "I didn't want to say, in case we couldn't manage it, but it is theoretically possible."

"So you need me," said Hermione, sifting through the evidence, "and I get the experience of being here while it happens?" She furrowed her brow.

"It's ground breaking!" enthused Olivander. "I just need a leaf and your apprenticeship is assured." Olivander extended his hand in a begging gesture.

"My apprenticeship?"

Olivander nodded avidly, "assured, yes!"

"The truth," Snape snapped acidly. "I will accept nothing less, on her behalf."

Olivander gulped and said hoarsely, "after."

Hermione looked from Professor to Wandmaker, examining the body language. Olivander was cowering, but vibrating with excitement, his eyes kept slipping away from hers to the sleeve that housed her wand. Snape held her gaze without emotion.

"Enough," Snape announced to Hermione. "You may go."

"I'll help," Hermione said quietly, "but I would like my 'truth' now I think." She glared at Olivander. "There are no female Wandmakers are there?"

"Currently?" Olivander vacillated. Snape top lip almost twitched high enough to expose teeth.

"Ever," stated Hermione

"You would be the first, it would be quite the coup," Olivander pleaded.

"Or I could be locked away making wand boxes and only allowed to sweep the floor. An apprenticeship is seven years, how long would mine be?" Hermione mused.

"Yours...?" Olivander hedged, "Seven years and an apprentice piece produced to a level that it is approved by the Guild."

"And if the apprentice piece is never approved? Is there an appeal process?" Snape nodded infinitesimally.

"Appeal, no, it's never…ah," Olivander gulped.

"Quite," snapped Hermione. "I would be allowed to learn, but never get Guild accreditation to practise. I'm right aren't I?"

"I couldn't say," Olivander said mournfully. "Who knows what the future holds?" He looked uncomfortably at Snape.

Hermione knew with absolute certainty that her future no longer held Wand making. She let the dream slip away, promising herself time to grieve in the near future. She drew her wand from her sleeve and drew in a breath, declaring in a steady tone, "lets get started then."

When she left, a crumpled piece of parchment depicting a series of line drawings had joined Olivanders letter. Snapes truth he had left her to open, whilst he communed in silence with a crystal cube. The last drawng showed a Vine dotted with purple flowers buds, poised to open. The lines blurred and reformed into a seed pod falling to the ground and a young sapling springing straight and true from the leafmould.

0.0

It took half a day for Cedric to feel 'right' in his own body again. Either he was getting flashbacks or part of his consciousness was still with Ron. There was a further half day while he worked out what the egg was trying to tell him. Try as he might, the Mermaid in the glass from the Prefects bathroom would not give a clue what the cryptic message meant, since he had not yet delivered the sweaty practice shirt he had promised.

Negotiations with Ron were proving difficult too. Cedric had thought that the swap was going to be a one time thing. Ron had other ideas. They had exchanged fist bumps in the gathering after the first test, it had been enough to reverse the potions effect immediately. Cedric fingered his own face gingerly, "watch yourself, Luna knows something was up." Ron nodded, smiling hugely and went to find Harry. Ron had made a point of seeking Cedric out a week later, with the idea of doing it all over again.

"You can't do the next one," Cedric said in exasperation. "Even Fleur is having trouble with the bubble head charm. I can't risk you drowning yourself. Or me." Cedric shook his head firmly and scratched at the tightness of the healing skin on his face. "We don't know what the test is other than the Merpeople are involved. I'm sorry, you _have_ to sit this one out."

Ron whined," I can do it. Mate trust me, I'm good. I just needed the right wand – yours is awesome, you just have to think of something and it's just, poof, there. The dog was weird though, I wasn't thinking about a dog."

Cedric stared, "you _weren't_ thinking about a dog?"

"As soon as they said Swedish Short Snout, I couldn't get the idea of our old au pair out of my head." Ron added earnestly, "she was blonde though, looked a bit like a dog too."

Cedric shook his head again," just….show her the scar, on the real you. She'll get it."

"It's not enough," Ron started. "I can't explain it, I just know it."

"I'm all out," Cedric raised his palms and backed away.

Rons face turned miserable. "Thanks for nothing," he whinged.

"When this is all over, I'll help you explain to her ok?"

"Right," Ron gnawed on his knuckle.

"I mean it, I'll help. She is fond of you, you know. No-one gets that irritated over nothing, like she does with you, unless there's something. She's just crap at expressing it in words. She's more….physical, out of frustration?"

Ron pulled up his pants leg, exposing two livid bruises, "yeah mate, thanks for that."

Cedric grinned in amusement, trying really hard not to think about how much he wanted to un-frustrate someone who would cheerfully stab him right now, as soon as look at him.

"How did the meeting with Snape go?"

"Eh, Olivander was in there, I think she said they were discussing a scholarship project or something – it took ages anyway and she was knackered when she got back. Cedric remembered the disconcerting feeling of Snapes door shutting before his eyes, even though he hadn't actually been there. It had been uncomfortable enough that he had found his way to the self same door and loitered for a while.

0.0

The Gala passed for Hermione in a dizzying mixture of excitement and aggravation. Viktor was extremely attentive, so much so that she ordered him back to his ship to get some rest. She had made preparations, but come the time found that she couldn't follow through. No-one would ever know. Viktor looked so gutted, she gave him a peck on the cheek, nothing like the scenarios she had been playing out in her head the night before – the result of which was that currently, she was wearing no underwear and had a condom stashed under her dorm pillow.

The trouble was, her dream self had a deal with Cedrics face. Any time she imagined something remotely intimate, the dream partners body would morph into Cedrics proportions and the second she looked up, his mercurial eyes would capture hers. It made her sleep erratic and unfulfilling. More than once she woke with her fist in her mouth and the other hand between her legs. More often than not, she woke with a smile on her lips in answer to his inviting smirk.

Her tiredness, in conjunction with an argument with Ron over Viktors intentions was the last straw, she sank in a puddle of chiffon on the stone steps on the Great Hall, hugging her knees to her chest. Her wounded pride escaped in a damp rivulet down her cheek. Damn all ginger wizards with honest eyes. The remains of the party moved around her like a stream around a boulder.

Two socked feet padded into view, leaving sweaty footprints on the stone in their wake. Hermione wrinkled her nose in preparation of disgust as they stopped in front of her. A pair of shiny shoes with laces dangling untidily like spiders legs dropped heavily to the floor. She didn't look up.

"Shit," the toes waggled inside their socks. Cedrics knees cracked as he squatted in front of her. He pushed some hair off her forehead and frowned as she ducked her chin. "Will you tell me what happened?" She could take almost anything at this point, sarcasm, snark, even bitterness, but not the caring tone he offered. Her shoulders quivered and she hunched tighter to hold herself still.

Cedric blew out a breath, "where's Wick-tor?"

"Gone back," she whispered

"Back to the boat?"

"Ship"

"Whatever," when she didn't crack a smile at him rolling his eyes, he thought for a minute, then busied himself tying the shoelaces of one shoe to the shoelaces of the other. He took her reluctant hand and said, "Don't tell me, you've been at the punch and your knees don't work. Here, hold these," as he scooped her up. She gave a gasp of surprise and wound an arm around behind his neck, his shoes dangling by their knotted laces in her other hand. He asked the question he didn't really want to know the answer to as he settled her against his chest and struggled awkwardly to his feet.

"Did he kiss you?" She didn't answer that one either, but her lips curved into a tiny smile of remembrance. Cedric huffed again and said humorously. "I hope he fucking sinks." She smiled at that one, a smile with teeth.

"Are you jealous?" she sniffed, appeased, fingering his open collar. No jacket. No tie. Not quite brave enough to trace a vein on the side of his neck.

"Shut up." Her evening was still ruined by Rons surly remarks, but at least Cedrics non-admission served as some form of sticking plaster over her damaged pride. She should ask about Cho, but her ego was already too fragile.

Cedric moved steadily up the stairs out of the great hall and into the stairwell. "Where do you keep your wand in that thing anyway." He didn't sound out of breath in the least.

"There's a pocket in the skirt." She studied the side of his face, the rising tide of pink as her fingers on his neck tapped softly, counting heartbeats

He stepped onto the bottom stair of the first staircase. "Mines up my sleeve." He didn't want to put her down, she might not let him pick her back up and he wanted that less than almost anything.

"What do you need?" she queried, frowning

"I want to make the stairs move and my hands are full"

"You're so lazy," she brushed a nail up the column of his neck

"Says the person being carried," he said, giving her a squeeze to hide his shiver

_Arse_, she thought, dropping her hand away from his skin, only he could tell someone they were heavy and take the sting out of it with a hug.

She pointed a finger at the stair tread he occupied, then flexed open her hand, "_elevatore ascendio_."

He rocked on his heels as the step rotated upwards, the top steps peeling off to fill in the steps below them as they rose. "Shit," he breathed, "exactly how many extra classes are you taking?" No wand, no using him as a reservoir. There was a distinct possibility that she had already outstripped him in terms of ability, but merely chose to stay in the same classes as her friends now to avoid him. His ego contracted at the price she was willing to pay to accomplish it.

She shrugged, "I read a lot. Stuff that's interesting, useful." She stopped suddenly, her gaze snagged on his shirt front and the fact that up until now, she had not noticed that it was half open. He was sweating, or had been. His skin glistened, a lick gone begging. She let out a shaky breath before beginning again. Courtesy of Molly Weasley, she knew how to make a guy cum in her hands, but nothing about the emotional fallout of wanting someone that she shouldn't.

"Random stuff that will only ever be any good for crosswords," she laughed maniacally at what she thought she knew, tipping her head back against the firm muscles of his arms about her. She clicked her fingers as the stair they were on merged with the landing.

"How much did you drink?"

She stared at the ceiling of the corridor curving over them, the bosses marching in orderly succession holding up the stone arches depicting fantastical creatures in gold on gaudy backgrounds. She could name every one. How utterly useless.

"Nothing after Fred and George got to the punch." The small one didn't count surely, it had been medicinal as much as anything.

They were nearing the Fat Ladys portrait. She ran her fingers through the hair above his ear, wanting more to remember. The silky strands were soft and damp as she rubbed them between her fingers, sticking out after she had tended them, like he had been electrocuted. He would leave her soon, she breathed in the pain and gave it a place to rest over her heart, using it as a shield against his alluring heat.

Cho and her big mouth, letting slip about how she and Cedric were 'all arranged' and such a good match as far as the parents were concerned. How his father had earmarked some diplomatic posts in the Ministry so that they could work together, how her mother was already picking out pastels. It was all bull, Ron had already let slip how Cho had a thing for Harry, except that it might be true. Cedric had already shown her what a political animal he was, how adept at manipulating others. It wouldn't be beyond him to make an advantageous marriage. Hermiones stomach quailed at the thought of such a loveless beginning.

"I can walk you know."

"I know," he quipped, "I've seen your back before." Then, because for Hermione the fastest way to humour was via anger, he added, "Kit…"

She tugged his earlobe and he made a noise deep in his throat that made her thighs twitch together. He jostled her more closely to him if that were possible. Damp heat seeped through his shirt and made the hairs rise on her bare arms where they touched him.

"The library," she mused aloud. She traced the shell of his ear with a finger wondering whether to share the information. He ducked his head into her touch, willing her to remember. "What the book said…about patronnii…when we were dancing." He looked at her sharply, seeing her joining the dots and running with the information, she squirmed in his arms and he fought briefly before letting her go.

"There are two types," she said pointing a finger at him. He nodded, pacing towards her as she backed away. His hands clenched and loosened by his sides, how he hated letting her go, her heat withdrawing like a blanket shared, taken back and stowed away.

"Two types," he agreed, biting the side of his thumb as he closed the gap. She drew up short against the wall of the Fat Lady portrait. The wand up his sleeve shifted subtly and she smoothed her dress over a pleat that vibrated suddenly under her hand. On a garden bench in front of a beautiful sunset, the Fat Lady wriggled comfortably, settling in for a front row view, plucking a daisy from a plant at her feet and started pulling the white petals away from their golden centre. _He will, she won't, she will, he won't._

He leant a forearm over her head, crowding her with his body, "and they are?" he prompted. His free hand traced the neckline of her dress with a solitary finger and a feather light touch.

"Familial," she breathed, mesmerised by the look in his eyes as his lips descended towards her. "I'm still angry with you," she mumbled. He shook his head and plucked at her lips with his own.

"You were. You're not, not now. And it's the other one," he whispered against her mouth, drawing away slightly, insanely pleased by her tipping her chin up to follow his movement. He rewarded it with another kiss, slipping his tongue along her bottom lip. "Conjugal, the other one is conjugal."

"It can't be the other one, Viktor…" she stunned him with her reply

He hated her in that moment, hated the way her presence pulled at him to be closer all the time when the things she just said pushed him away. She was just a bit of fun after all, a challenge to pass the time, before his feelings started getting in the way. It wasn't like they were joined at the hip or anything. His mind took a sharp right turn and the thought suffocated him. Had she? Joined hips with Viktor? He bit the inside of his cheek, tasting blood and bile. Storms raged in his eyes.

The Fat Lady pulled another daisy, roots and all. His legs shook which had nothing to do with the lateness of the hour and everything to do with dreams disappearing with the dawn. The spectre of Ron tapped him on the shoulder and he wilfully ignored it. _Terra Nullius._ Finders, Keepers.

"Viktor what?" His voice was deadly. The hand over her head contracted into a fist.

She turned her face away, frowning. "He knelt down and put my foot on the back of his neck. He told me to command him…and said that he would wait." She smiled wistfully, his close shorn head had felt like velvet and he had the prettiest eyes.

Cedric gaped at her, mouth open. "He proposed to you?"

"Is it so unbelievable?" she replied acidly. "Think what it would do for international relations." She didn't mention Rons take on the whole thing

He rested his cheek against her forehead, rubbing his face against hers….the pit of his stomach dropped. He whispered, "did you tell him yes?" When she shook her head, he kissed her forehead, raining kisses down the side of her face and sagging against her in relief.

"Did you tell him maybe?" He didn't wait for her reply, devouring her mouth with his own. Maybe didn't matter, maybe wasn't yes and that meant he still had a chance. She caught his head between her hands to try and control the intensity of his ardour, soon giving up and tangling her hands in his hair instead. His hand drifted down her bodice and smoothed over the skirt covering her thigh before grasping the back of her leg and tugging it sharply up so he could press himself more fully into her swaying form. His wand slipped out of the gap between sleeve and cuff and into a narrow pocket that appeared in her skirt and then immediately disappeared. Her breath left in a rush and a cold excitement raced between her breasts and circled her belly button.

"Invite me up," he breathed hoarsely against her neck, his tongue painting flames against her throat. His hips thrust shallowly against her stomach.

"Don't you dare tell him maybe," he muttered against the bare skin of her shoulder, dipping his knees and rubbing his stiffening cock between her legs. He ran a hand around her behind, invading the crease of her buttocks as far as her dress would allow and she curled her pelvis up towards him as he rocked into her again. A moan escaped with his name on it.

"Invite me up," he prompted again, his voice was steadier, more certain She watched the muscle tic in his jaw through heavy lidded eyes while he waited, hung out to dry in the breeze of her distain. He looked almost sleepy, disaffected, if not for the flush over his cheekbones and not at all dangerous.

She pondered the change in his tone whilst trying to ignore both her stomach trying to squeeze into her backbone whilst at the same time pressing against his jumping erection and whatever the hell was going on in her pocket. "Mercury," she murmured to the Fat Lady, then, "he's with me."

"So I see," said the Fat Lady, coquettishly fanning herself and brushing a heap of white petals, shredded leaves and dirt off her lap. Adding as an afterthought, "Blaise is up there with the Parvattis, watch yourselves." The picture swung open, displaying the snug warmth of the common room. Cedric set her on her feet and the portrait swung back behind them. The Fat Lady frowned, did the Durmstrang boy stay with the Parvattis? She sipped the punch Fred Weasley had slipped her happily, probably didn't matter – there were two Parvattis after all.

0.0

Hermione stared at the bottom of Cedrics shirt where it bellied out away from his body. It was mostly undone and she reached out and hooked a finger against the last iridescent, fastened button, her nail scratching gently against his skin. He shouldn't be here. She shouldn't be doing this. It felt like breaking the rules, it felt like the burn of Centaur spirit. She tugged him unresisting to the foot of the dormitory stairs. And then up them.

Neville slid into the common room, still in the arms of his partner and lost in the whirl of a dance where only they could hear the music. Neither of them saw the lone mother-of-pearl button roll away and circle once before wobbling like an escaped hubcap, coming to rest under a tapestry of the Lady and the Unicorn depicting the sense of 'touch.' In a reworking of the original rich fabric, the Lady held fast to a unicorns horn and swapped the pennants pole for a lions unruly mane.

0.0

The back of Cedrics knees bumped against the side of her bed.

"Kit," he murmured between kisses that had started on the way up the stairs and never stopped, "you should wait, we don't have to."

She got hold of his zipper and tugged slowly. "I don't think Viktor is waiting," she said thoughtfully. The Parvattis beds had been pushed together and beside them lay scattered a pair of brothel creepers and a second pair of dragon skin ankle boots, one tipped over so that the sole faced her. They could have been anybodys - except Viktor was the only Durmstrang she knew who had metal edges on his heels because he wore them down unevenly. The curtains were shut quite tight

He sat up suddenly, cupping her face and staring into her eyes knowingly, "where is my wand?"

She looked away and mouthed her bottom lip, "safe?" she offered. Magic was arcing between the wand tips, she could feel it like raindrops on sensitive skin. Her answer could plausibly be a complete lie.

He ran a hand over her skirt, battling the fullness of the fabric and trying not to think about the squirming form underneath. She was beginning to pant and he still couldn't find it. He dragged her on to his lap, ducking his head into the crook of her neck and breathed her in, "you sneaky…safe where?"

"Pocket," she managed, concentrating on shifting her form into her magical self. Her head was strangely heavy, pulling against her willpower and encouraging her to lie down, lie back, pull him with her and see where they ended up. In her pocket, a flower bud bloomed deepest purple with eerily florescent white bee guides, stigma and stamen arranged in a skeletal cross.

"Did you take it?" He followed her down onto the mattress as she shook her head 'no.'

"Get it for me?" he teased her ear lobe with his teeth, balancing himself over her. From the corner of his eye he watched her eyelids flutter and close. The deep sigh she made scraped the bodice of her dress against his chest. "Hermione?" he breathed, losing himself in the velvet texture of her skin.

"Can't," she groaned, reaching for his collar, she pushed his shirt off his shoulders.

"I need it," he whispered against her neck, testing to see if she tasted the same here as here and here. Greedy fingers traced the muscle groups down his back and he tensed, groaning when they slid under the waistband of his pants.

"Now?" she panted, testing her nails against the cotton of his briefs. She listed all the things in her head that made him press her harder into the mattress and rubbed her feet together to keep them from hooking over the backs of his legs. "Oh!" she hummed.

"Like that?" he murmured, wand forgotten. His tongue had found more sensitive skin to talk to behind her ear and he used the backs of his fingers, trailing upwards past her knee. She squeezed her thighs tighter together as the pocket quaked against her leg. The petals of the flower reflexed backwards as if blown.

She cupped the back of his neck and shut her eyes against the embarrassment that would come next. It was unavoidable. His fingers inched higher under her dress, before coming to a sudden halt. She could picture his face, the personification of stunned amusement. He whispered into her hair, "oh, you did not."

His cock bobbed uncomfortably when he thought about how they had made out in the corridor and she was wearing nothing underneath, his voice deepened, "all night? Did I miss a memo, dress robes, but no underwear?" She was going to say something suitably pithy back, but his hand was right there, his thumb dipping in and out, circling and repeating, making speech impossible. She breathed shallowly, clutching at his shoulder with one hand and his tortuous forearm with the other. She couldn't tell if the hold she had on him was trying to stop him or guiding him.

He watched the flush rise over her décolletage, "if you don't want to spoil your dress, you need to take it off," he offered gruffly, slipping his thumb lower before reluctantly moving away to give her some space to manoeuver. Seed pearls down the back of her bodice undid themselves and she reached for the hem of the skirt, pulling it over her head in a smooth movement. He used the interlude to divest himself of everything except his boxers.

Laying himself back down, he waved a hand to shut the bed curtains and urged her to straddle his body. She moved jerkily against his cotton underwear until he laced his fingers with hers and guided her rhythm, rubbing herself against him until the cloth was uncomfortably damp.

"We need my wand," he growled. In the pocket of Hermiones dress, his wand tip bled moisture down a fine webbing that led directly to the heart of the flower.

"Pillow," she moaned, "I have a uh…" Cedric breathed heavily, trying a circle with his hips to relieve the pressure and trying not to analyse Hermione with no underwear at a Yule Ball with condoms under her pillow. Sure enough his questing fingers found the something they were looking for. He held it up and Hermione all but snatched it off him and dragged his boxers down. Her hands were shaking so badly, he sat up to help.

"I've got it," he said, taking it off her and pushing her gently back so that he could free himself. "There's no rush." He tore the packet open with his teeth, spitting the foil off to one side. She had her hands on him the instant his shaft was visible, squeezing and rubbing it. His breathing tuned raw and hurried as he tucked the tip of his cock into the condom and rolled it down, shooing her hands away.

He stared into her eyes as her hands found his shoulders and used them to lever herself up, pausing to look down between them. His cock twitched and jerked, he moved to hold it at the base, steady. If she wanted him.

"We don't have to, Kit, it's fine." He told himself he could get to the Prefects bathroom in about five seconds flat if he had to and prayed it was empty. His imagination helpfully supplied Hermione kneeling over him wearing black leather boots. He swallowed a rush of saliva and panted his impatience away.

She lowered herself, adjusting her position until the tip of his cock was nudging her in what felt like the right place. Cedric gripped her with both hands around the waist as her hair shrouded their faces and she leaned in to kiss him on the lips.

"You're beautiful," he murmured, feeling her relax, drop an inch and tense again. "So beautiful," he hummed against her lips. She pulled away, rising a little and leaning in again as he slipped steadily inside her. Her nails carved into his shoulders and she drew away with a grimace.

"It's ok, it's ok," he whispered, pulling her body closer as she wrapped her arms around his neck, feeling him raining kisses on every available inch of her bare skin. She gave a sharp moan that got bitten off when he hugged her tighter, drawing her down against him.

Hermione clung to him, awed at feeling of him trapped inside her, snug in his close embrace. Her hips shifted of their own volition, she could feel him twitching like a tickle inside or an insect bite unbearably pleasurable to scratch. A cold shiver spread out from her lower back and burned its way upwards when he shifted her again so that he sank deeper in.

He ran his fingers down her back, chasing goosebumps running the other way and urged her gently to move. "Like this," he guided her hips in a tight circle so all of her could feel all of him.

"Mmhm," she managed, tipping her head back and stretching her spine. All of her body felt tightly alive. He buried his face in her chest, rubbing his stubble against first one nipple, then the other. She moved faster, eyes closed, hurried and impatient for something fleetingly fast ahead of her. She felt his grip tighten, making her downward motions harder, fast enough to make her breast bounce against his face.

His growls and grunts reverberated against her chest, the hiss of a 'yesss' steamed against her skin, followed by the cool of gasping intakes of his breath. Cedric altered the angle of her downward stoke, pulling her forward as he leaned backwards and she struck his pelvic bone so hard she grunted.

"Again," he urged, dragging her torso flush with his and thrusting upwards against her. She opened her mouth soundlessly, panting against his collarbone as his hips crashed into hers. He drove on, even as her frame contorted into an expectant rictus, plunging again until her body followed his intimately for two then three punishing thrusts. Her fingers crammed themselves into his hair, searing his scalp as she cried out and he let himself go, pressing himself up into her one more time as his cock pulsed away inside her.

She slumped unapologetically over him, dragging heaving breaths to relieve the stitch in her ribs and trying to control the shiver all over her body. She tried to raise herself on her elbows, but only succeeded in him slipping from her body. She reached between them and dragged off the condom, dropping it unceremoniously over the edge of the bed, before collapsing atop of his limp form.

Her thumb moved stickily against his forehead, darting fingers combed his hair stuck there. He let out a pleasurable grunt. Everything burned, but nothing hurt and his limbs were so so heavy.

In the pocket, the flower throat flushed pink and the petals snapped shut into a tiny lantern shape. The colour pulsed and fled, leaving a pale filigreed husk containing a tiny seed that rattled like a childs toy. New leaves broke through where the flower bud had formed, shiny and razor sharp. The seed husk dropped into the bottom of the pocket.

Older leaves cocooned both wands briefly in a leafy embrace, before the Vine and rod extracted itself. The cocoon contracted sharply against the remaining ash wand, absorbing itself into the polished wood. It left barely a trace, a fine wickerwork of stem and leaf, visible only under the fullest of moonlights.

Cedric dragged the edge of the coverlet over them, smiling softly as the aggrieved noises she made into his chest and neck. She breathed shallowly against him, drowsy with pleasure, with the welcome weight of his arm across her back and fell asleep.

0.0

Cedric woke with the first fingers of dawn and ferreted his wand from her discarded frock. He was not alone in wandering the halls at this ungodly hour, but he did appear to be the only one without a shirt. Boys nodded to one another, there was no walk of shame for a boy, more a jaunty acknowledgement of time well spent at sleeps expense. His wand swished in his hand until one of his peers pointed out a mark on his forehead.

Conjuring a mirror and parting his hair, he stared at the rusty print, dead centre. Deliberately or otherwise, she had blooded him like a novice at their first fox hunt. He hit the showers at a dead run, feverishly scraping at his skin. Even with hot water and soap, a lot of soap, it took forever to get it off his skin. He leant back against the cool tiles, letting the steaming water smack him full in the face. Even though he was sure the mark was gone, he could still feel it. He knew if he checked his wand, the ring would be limned in black. Possession. Underscored for the hard of understanding.

"Well, shit." Anyone who could read a wand would know he was off the market. The best he could do for Cho would be to break it off as cleanly as possible, since it was obvious to him at least that she could not have been the cause. There were enough bright sparks here to ask awkward questions, even with a civilised ending. He smiled wryly at the verbal flogging he would endure from his father and shrugged to himself.

0.0

Hermione rolled over, her hand brushing an empty space beside her and stared up at the tented ceiling. She stretched out unfamiliar aches and waggled her toes, feeling altogether different, but still the same. She buried her face in her pillow, sniffing out Cedrics scent, captured in her cotton and groaned. Where did they go from here? She hadn't asked for anything more and he had offered no flowery promises of a future together. He hadn't even shown himself this time.

Stuffing the shirt under her pillows and wrinkling her nose, she hurriedly assembled her toiletries and made for the showers.

A note was waiting for her when she got back. The moment her fingers touched the parchment, a stupor descended. Dumbledore requested her attendance at her earliest convenience. She dressed mechanically and made her way there immediately. Some part of her periphery noted that Ron and Cho were already there when she arrived. Dumbledore smiled genially and described how their loved ones would 'save' them, his voice was muted for her, sounding as if it came from outside a bubble.

Disinterestedly, she watched Dumbledore cast a spell over Cho, Chos, eyes closed and her breathing was barely discernible. Ron was next, under without a fight. Hermione felt her wand stir, the prickles normally on the outside were stinging against her flesh as Dumbledore cast the same spell for the third time. She flinched and he cast again, Hermione swayed, fighting the somnolent feeling and squinting to keep her eyes open. Dumbledore looked worried and cast a third time, louder and with a hint of panic and she drifted. She felt her wand hand being lifted, inspected and then his dubious tone, "this should be interesting," then nothing.

0.0

Hermiones head and shoulders broke the surface of the lake, she choked and fought against the hand on her arm, lashing out viciously in panic. Viktors worried features swam into view.

"Is rescue, to swim," he panted, pointing towards three scaffolded structures that rose above the waters of the black lagoon. Hermione struck out towards their solid safety, with Viktor paddling tentatively beside her.

Warm blankets awaited her, a flask of hot chocolate loaded with a little something from Madame Pomfrey cabinets warmed her from the inside. Cedrics head was next to break the choppy waves, with Cho clinging to his neck. Even from this distance, she could see him asking if she was alright and smiling fondly down at her. Hermione glanced away, to where Viktor stood hunched under his own blanket, knocking back a clear liquid that steamed in the frigid air. She invaded the Durmstrang gathering, noting how they closed ranks protectively behind her.

"What happened?" she demanded.

"You ver taken. As prize for test. Something of value Dumbledore say," Viktor tried to explain. Hermione fumed silently, something of value to Viktor at least. To the other Durmstrangs too it seemed, they were reluctant to let her pass back to her own colleagues, only Viktors harsh command forced a path for her.

Harry breached the waves, struggling to support a spluttering Ron and sobbing French girl. A shout went up from the Gryffindor supporters and a boat was launched to bring them in. Cedric strode over, grinning. His smile faltered at her scowl.

"What? I didn't know you would be taken. Viktor got to you first that's all." He held out his hand, "trust me?" She didn't trust herself to look him in the eye.

She shouldered past him, the trouble was he sounded so plausible, it could be true. "I need to get some facts," she offered, "I need to see Dumbledore."

"What is real?" he called after her. What was real for him was the empty feeling his chest that the touch of her hand would have dispelled. Viktor caught his eye and Cedric stood ramrod straight and winked in his direction

0.0

The run up to the final test was anticlimactic for Cedric, until Ron barged into the champions test and begged to see Cedric alone for a moment.

"Fred wanted the ingredient you added to the mixture," Ron pleaded when they got outside, round the back where no-one could see. "In case you buy it in there," he side nodded to the dark hedges to one side of the tent.

"Thanks," said Cedric wryly. "Got a pen?"

Ron nodded enthusiastically and offered one balanced on his fingertips that slipped, just as Cedric reached for it. Ron gripped Cedrics hand painfully hard, pressing his palm, sticky with potion into Cedrics skin.

"No!" Cedrics horrified reaction was short lived as he found himself in Rons body again. A forearm smashed into the side of his head and he went down like a lead sock. A boot followed swiftly after it. Light was eclipsed by darkness.

0.0

Ron breathed in the scent of grass at close quarters and dragged himself upright. He stumbled to the stands, searching desperately for Hermione. She scowled at him as soon as she caught sight of him, making an impatient 'come on' motion.

"What happened to you?" she hissed as he dropped into the seat beside her, "they've already started."

"Fell," he rasped. His vision doubled to include the perspective of someone in the maze, Harry beside him, both of them about to take hold of the Tournament trophy. He sought Hermiones hand, pawing drunkenly at her sleeve.

"What? Ron?"

"Hand. Please," he groaned.

This time the pull of magic from her was unmistakeable, she gripped his hand savagely against the dizzying sensation. "What are you doing!"

"Sorry, s'Ron." He slurred. There was no way he could maintain the second perspective without support, in the state he was in. The sensation of the portkey second hand made him nauseous.

"Ron? What are you on about?"

"Ron," he repeated and closed his eyes to reduce the vertigo. "Kit!" he gasped, slamming back in his seat as Pettigrew followed his masters instructions and Cedrics form was hurled to the ground by the force of a killing curse.

"Ron? Ron!" Hermione grabbed his robes and shook him, shocked at him hyperventilating. He took gasping breaths, struggling to maintain a body not his own. Hermione shook him so hard, his teeth rattled. "You're here."

"I'm here," he answered. "I'm here," he breathed deeply. "I'm here," he repeated, getting a hold of his breathing.

Harry apparated back into the arena, sobbing over Cedrics body. Hermiones blood ran cold and she screamed in horror.

Ron bundled her up in his arms. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." He crooned rocking her rigid form. "I'm here, I'm right here."

"Cedric calls me Kit," mumbled Hermione and was almost suffocated by the squeeze that followed. Hermione searched Rons face. "Show yourself," she grabbed a fistful of his clothing. "Now!"

"Not here," he shushed her. He was too weak, even if he had wanted to. He had to work out a way of getting hold of his wand. And then a way of telling Molly Weasley her son was dead, because he was stupid. After that he could show Hermione himself, with her help. Right now, just holding her close was enough.

0.0

A/N Ringing and girdling are tree husbandry terms, they do the opposite of this story in real life, restricting growth and in some cases killing a tree, since the living layer is just under the bark. Don't urban dictionary them – that's not what I meant AT ALL and will put you right off your dinner.

Epi left. For what happened to Snape when he got Lilys wand core and whether Nevilles vine is still safe in the Tropical greenhouse. If Helen will stay in the willow and why the Centaurs gave Hermione a hank of tail hair…did I miss anything? x


	17. Chapter 17

A/N: Yes 4. I am so bad at letting this story go lol. There is an awful lot of Snape here What can I say, he likes me. Cedric will be in the next update, don't flame me for not letting you know ok? JK Rowling said Olivander was at the forefront of new wand design (or at least thats what Wiki says). I have an idea that could have meant this:

_Epi 1: "I never got it." Snape regarded the handsome woman before him steadily. "Where did Pomona get the first cutting from to start experimenting with Vines?"_

"Bring your wand," McGonagall demanded needlessly.

Snape blinked owlishly. "Now?"

"Yes now," McGonagall snapped and swept out of Snapes chamber. Snape sighed heavily and rose to follow in her wake.

When Snape caught up, which was no mean feat, he attempted to maintain his dignity while directing McGonagalls steps. "Head for the Tropical greenhouse."

"What makes you an expert all of a sudden?"

"Malfoy said that Hermione was pulled out of class recently – it could be nothing. They were told to meet Pomona at the Tropical house. He has been useful for keeping an eye on her. She has no idea of course."

"They?"

"Longbottom and err Cedric were with her."

"You know young Cedric is mentoring her." McGonagall turned hard right out of the gates and down towards where the greenhouses nestled together like giant chrysalides.

Snape thought wryly about the scene in the stairwell, mentoring - is that what they are calling it now? He been almost willing to show his hand before the staircases got around to complying. It was Cedrics own fault that she got away from his after that.

"Interesting choice," he muttered and followed it up with a patchy, "not a Gryffindor. How very inter-house spirited of you." McGonagall forgot herself for a moment and shoved Snape off the path, his scarecrow robes flapped like an ungainly heron attempting lift-off, while he re-found his footing. "Hardly sporting," he said under his breath as they drew level with the first of the glasshouses. He had, in fact, twisted his ankle and was manfully trying not to limp. McGonagall stormed on, seeking the greenhouse with the tallest profile.

"Helen never spoke about you," McGonagall said suddenly. "Not a word until the morning of the day she died. She said you were wasting away over that pasty faced Evans girl. I told her I'd never heard such rubbish, but she was right wasn't she?" McGonagall didn't add the juicy piece of information about being privy to Helens thoughts about him, it had been an immense effort to keep her Twin from her own crush on the gawky youth with the strange eyes and rare smile.

"Nothing happened," Snape replied dourly. McGonagall gave a sharp laugh, "she wouldn't have given you the time of day. Potter blazed for her, you were only ever in his shade. You never saw it, you never saw anything," she finished bitterly, then twisted the knife. "Potter told her to get you to meet her by the Willow so that he could give Lily his ring." Snapes face darkened, McGonagall gave the blade an extra turn. "She was late wasn't she? Rumour has it they defiled the stone circle."

"Lies!" hissed Snape, catching at her wrist to drag her to a stop. They had already reached the door, McGonagall goaded him to stoke his temper.

McGonagall snorted, "I've seen the inscription on the sentinel stone, the one that looks like a doe and a stag? Unless that was you? Your patronus is a doe isn't it? Did James have you too, bent over the sacrificial stone? I'd heard he was partial to the odd buck?" She yanked open the door to the greenhouse and wrested her arm from his grip. "He's dead, she's dead, they are _all_ dead. We have a job to do."

Snape seethed and spat, "Twins share don't they, did she share me with you? Was it good for you too? Where were you when we were under the Willow?"

McGonagalls reply was preceded the flat of her hand on his face, before she hissed, "you forget yourself, Professor." Snape was momentarily stunned and stared at the woman before him, this was what Helen always looked like, with the light of fire in her eyes as a girl, always pressing his buttons. His blood stirred for the first time in countless years. He pushed her back against the door hard enough to move the glass in its frame and pinned her with her wand hand behind her back, "want to find out first hand?"

McGonagalls shocked gasp was superseded by Ponomas cheery greeting, "Minerva! Serverus! Look, Olivander has made it away from his sweat shop for a visit!" Snape immediately stepped away and turned his back on McGonagall, partially shielding her from the jovial Professor Sprout. Olivander and he shared a chilly nod, "this is not a social visit," he drawled.

McGonagall advanced with her wand before her, "where is it?"

"I don't know what, ah, Minerva, lets not do anything rash. Dumbledore knows everything," Professor Sprout backed away from McGonagalls advance.

McGonagall gestured to Olivander in passing, "was he in on it? How much did he pay you?"

"Garrick may have made some suggestions as to which species might give the best results, but it was always very scientific. Everything is documented. Actually the only one that really took off was the _'rubus'_ spur and he took it to destroy it on Dumbledores instructions once it grew past the first node. It was the last clean cutting I took from Helens wand."

"Why didn't you tell me?" McGonagall said aghast.

"Be honest Minerva, what would you have done it I had told you that part of Helens Vine had survived what you did?"

"Killed it!" McGonagall whispered.

Professor Sprout nodded sadly, realisation dawned slowly for Professor Sprout, Olivander watched for it out of the corner of his eye and backed towards Snape. "The Granger girl," Sprout hissed, "it's her wand isn't it? You've ruined everything. EVERYTHING!"

Olivander hastily put Snape between himself and the furious gardener and backed towards the door, realising with some disappointment that this would be the last time he could source exotic woods without leaving the country. He also resolved to employ a Taster at the first opportunity. If anyone knew how to slip him something 'organic' and extremely detrimental to his health, it would be the green-fingered Queen he was scrambling to distance himself from.

0.0

Snape left with Olivander, they parted company where the path split. Olivander took the wider branch up to the school, Snape branched off towards the stone circle. A few minutes searching showed him what he had been dreading, under lichen, but with the outline still distinct was a row of stags astride or mounting a variety of animals with one notable exception. The last etching showed a stag couchant, looking back over its shoulder towards a small striped cat.

0.0

_Epi 2: Lilys wand core was extracted by Olivander and Hermione into a crystalline cube. This is what happened after Hermione left Snapes study._

Snapes study door clicked shut behind Hermiones departing figure. The room reeked of brimstone, grease and nervous sweat. Snape leaned forward in his chair, his gaze never wavering from the clouded crystal cube stranded on his blotter. He cupped both hands around it protectively, as if guarding it from prying eyes.

"Say something to it!" Olivanders excitement made his voice inappropriately loud and his movements jerky. The possibility that the cube might communicate in some way would be magnificent, possibly the pinnacle of his otherwise uneventful history in the Guild of Wandmakers.

Snape hissed between his teeth as Olivander drew near, halting his advance with an unspoken threat.  
>"You services are no longer required."<p>

Olivander whimpered, whipped by the tone and curled against a future verbal blow, "I just need to know."

Snape raised his cold stare, "leave. While you still may."

"You could keep the money. It would be worth every penny to have this documented and validated by the Guild. Don't you see what this could mean if the cube interacts? I could bring the consciousness of Great Wizards back from the past, my collection alone is quite extensive. Imagine the secrets they could reveal!"

Snape rose and calmly put the cube on the floor. The cube contents swirled unsteadily as if disturbed by the movement. "Every penny," Snape sighed. "Have you ever cared for anything other than yourself?"

Olivander tried to read Snapes pained expression, desperately seeking something as leverage. "My work is everything, its science pushes the boundaries of all our accomplishments. You would barely be able to function magically without it." He gestured to the bridge on Snapes wand. "Imagine if the vine leaves were able to reopen a living wand cleanly enough so that the still living core could be spliced with new stock if it was damaged?" Olivander knew he has lost him the moment that Snapes eyes fell back on the cube, but his dreams carried him on. "Or even if it wasn't! Hybridising a core could be possible for the first time."

"While Hermione is a student here, she is under the protection of the school," Snape murmured. He looked directly at Olivander. "You have seen how alive her wand is. Can you imagine how much it will have advanced by the time she has reached her full potential? How powerful and _protective_ it would be?" Snapes lips took on a wry twist. "I almost wish I were a younger man," he moved to stand immediately before the cube. "My experience of vine-wielders is that they get what they want and to hell with the consequences," Snapes tone turned almost philosophical on the last sentence, but the next was deadly. "Do you really think that she does not know you, for exactly what you are? Leave. Now."

Olivander gripped his bag of tools close to his chest and scuttled towards the door. The bolt drew back for him and the key turned itself, but the door didn't open.

"_Engorgio," _Snape exhorted gently and under his outstretched hands, the cube began to grow, first in width and then, more by height until it was a mere head shorter than him. Olivander stared in fascination as the swirling motes in the cube spun hazily in their prison. The room filled with the muted hiss of white noise. A palm pressed flat on the inside of the enlarged cube, and the hiss rose and fell like a sleeping breath.

"Speak!" squeaked Olivander. The door opened so fast, it caught him hard on the shoulder and he spun wildly from the force of it and an unseen hand forced him backwards into the hallway, but not before he had seen the full figure of a woman drift into focus inside the cube. Her features were indistinct, but he was well aware of who it was supposed to be. All that remained of Lily Potter. The door slammed in his face. "Wait!" he cried, pressing his ear to the keyhole. Above the faint hiss of the white noise came another more distinctive sound, sibilant and distant. "_-everus."_ He rattled the door handle uselessly.

0.0

Snape pressed his own palm to that in the cube, cold seeped through, freezing him to the elbow. The teachings of the Dark Arts always said how the dead seek the warmth of the living and he gave it willingly.

"Lily?" he whispered. A womans form seeped from the swirling mass of white background.

"_-everus._"

"Lily!" He pressed first his forehead, then the side of his face to the cool, unyielding surface of the cube. Heat fled from him and the flecks of consciousness in the cube became ever more animated, solidifying the figures form. "I need you," he whispered urgently, "I need you to remember."

"_-ember."_

Snape called his wand to steady himself, the rod was unusually warm under the bridge and he gripped it harder, allowing the warmth in to combat the cold until he felt as if the heat and the cold met in a vertical line down the middle of him. "Show me Helens death." Heat surged across him, the underside of the wand bridge split with a brittle crack, but the stream of magic he could sense felt as sound as ever.

The palm in the cube fell away into a choppy wave of white fragments that crashed against its confines. It collected itself and smashed itself a second time against his hand, cold shot up his arm as far as his shoulder and seized his heart, it took a moment for him to realise that he was shoulder deep inside the cube. His wand burned hot as a fire brand and he held it against the cube to feed it the heat it seemed to crave. Cold fingers crawled up from his heart, rising up his neck and paralysing his face before twisting into his brain. He squeezed his eyes shut against the frozen feeling and saw a wands eye rendition of the scene by the willow.

He saw himself naked and sprawled in the final throes of the rut, captivated by the exquisite ecstasy on Helens face. He saw himself reach out to deflect the threat of Helens strike and how it spent itself against his hasty shield. He saw also, fragments of a second later, a killing strike from beside Lilys wands viewpoint. He wondered, not for the first time, if this was why Dumbledore kept him so close in his confidences.

Helens frame heaved with the shock of the hit, the Vine on her wand lashed viciously at Snapes bare flesh wherever it could reach, lacerating with burrs and thorns broken through the normally smooth bark and he let it, intent on cradling Helens face in his hands. The horror of the light fading from her eyes was reflected in his expression and a feral howl sprang from his image, echoed by his own lips splitting the silence of his study.

Snapes image scrabbled frantically for the orb that she had brought to tease him. He knocked her wand away from her hand to press her palm against the curved surface, even as he clamped her other hand beneath his own against the butt of his wand, ringed with her promise. He called the first of the Dark Arts that sprang to mind, one that would drag an unwilling consciousness from a body into something that would hold it, fitting the tip of his wand to the depression in the base of the orb.

There was already too little left. Helens hand fell from the orb as soon as he released it and only an image of her patronus raced madly within the confines of the glassy sphere.

He had never felt so cold. Something warm dripped down the sleeve of his wand hand and he startled to find only his wand hand outside the cube itself, frozen air forced its way into his chest and came back out barely warmed. A droplet of red, flecked with black ash, slid viscously down the outside of the cube. "Lily?" His voice was a shudder.

"_-ever loved you._"

Self preservation tightened his hold on his wand, something jagged split the skin on his palm and fire shot up his arm. Snape drew his consciousness in on itself, turned his face away and pointed the wand tip to the cube.

"_Confringo maxima._" The blasting charm showed no effect initially, other than the air Snape breathed was suddenly warm instead of cold. Cracks crazed the cube on all sides and the moment he moved, splinters of glass tinkled on to the Persian rug. Shards coated his hair and shoulders as the cube shattered in on itself. A womans form rose up out of the white, blood splashed over a the breast directly above a heart, Snapes blood. Her hands cupped his shocked face with the warmth of a distant sun, travelled over his shoulders and he felt the brief pressure of a ghostly embrace which lingered over his wand hand before it was gone.

Haunting laughter rang out around the confines of the room as the woman fell to powder around him and a ghostly voice hissed above the sound of grains sliding over one another, "_-ever loved you."_

"Lily?" Snape shouted. "Lily!"

Louder and vehement, the hissing sounded more like a forest whipped by the wind and the voice took on a bitter, vindictive taint. _"She never loved you."_

He dropped his wand. The flesh of his palm was torn and sopping with blood, black ash rimmed the wound and he gripped his wrist to try and stem the flow of blood. The bridge on his wand was nothing but blackened dust, beneath it, shining with a dark lustre and coated with his own blood, was a crystalline bridge over the nub of Helens ring bearing a newly erupted, vicious thorn, and encasing it entirely. He wound a handkerchief hastily around his damaged hand and groped for his wand.

His drinks cabinet rattled itself open and shakily poured him a whiskey in a tumbler that flew itself to his desk. He slumped into the leather seat. Lily was gone, destroyed by his own hand and leaving him a final gift in the strange repair of his wand. He wondered if he would ever know if the voice had ever been Lilys.

Morbidly he recalled his actions immediately after Helens death. In despair Snape had _evanescoed_ the orb, although his wand was oddly weakened. Pomona was the one to break the news that Snapes wand would never be the same again and offered Olivanders aid by proxy. Snape had been catatonic for a week, until Lily had come to him and passed on the news she had come to the Willow to share. He had lost both her and Helen. He had been virtually impassive ever since.

Orbs were unexplored territory and to his mind served much as the cube had done. He had asked for the vision of a memory and had it granted. The perspective of the relay had been nothing like his own, it must have been Lily.

Amber liquid coursed down his throat in a choked gulp. Lily _had_ been there in the cube and Helen had forced him to destroy her, or had Helen saved him from beyond the grave? The door handle rattled desperately. Snape smiled grimly and lifted a finger, hiding his face behind the remains of his whiskey while Olivander tumbled to the floor.

"Where is she?" Olivanders voice rose to an impassioned shout. "Where is she? What have you done!" He took in the fragments of crystal and the dust on the floor and heaped them together in his hands, cutting his skin to ribbons. Crystal embedded itself into the cuts and wormed its way under his skin until it was painful for him to close his hand into a fist, or work his fingers at all. "No! no! How could you?" Olivander pleaded. Snape looked on, unmoved.

They had taken every care during the extraction not to touch the fragmented crystalline matrix. Olivander himself had explained how little was understood about how the structure worked or how it would behave against the warmth and fragility of human flesh in its raw form, since it had a marked proclivity for surrounding animal based organic material. The blasting curse had reduced the matrix once again into its raw form. Olivander it seemed had the answer to that question in front of him. Olivander held his ruined hands in front of his face and tried to flex his fingers, finding the movement restricted and excruciatingly painful. "Help me!" he cried, rising to his knees and holding his streaming hands out. Crystals shredded the knees of his pants and fragments twisted themselves into the knee joint. "Professor, please!"

"You will not speak of this."

"Anything," Olivander begged and stopped when he realised Snape was not finished.

"You will convince the Guild to amend its charter. The first female students will be admitted next year."

"But-"

"Your complete collection will be documented and made available for study."

"You don't know what you are asking."

Snape offered the tip of his rod, exposing at the same time the new crystalline segment embedded over the vine ring and its new thorn.

"Agree," he stated in no uncertain terms.

Olivander hesitated, his eyes widened as they flicked over the area previously hidden by an ornate bridge, "your wand?"

"Is better than it has ever been under your care."

Olivander seized the tip, causing the rod to tremble in Snapes grip. "Perhaps we can come to some arrangement?"

Snape lips twitched into the hint of a smile as he said very carefully, "every penny."

0.0

A/N: A stag couchant is the beast lying on its tummy with its forelegs stretched out under its chin. You know who has a stripey cat as a patronus though don't you? Nod with me...


	18. Chapter 18

A/N So many loose ends, so little time….! SHR You got me into so much trouble – seriously lol! Anybody enjoying this should send you a bottle of wine or flowers or something because Cedders was supposed to pop off just like in GoF, but then Hermione got all lip trembly and Luna was like 'I'm not finished' – now look what you made me do ) I should just go back to giving them chapter numbers tee hee!

Epi 3 or 16 - more of the same anyway

_"Cedric calls me Kit," mumbled Hermione and was almost suffocated by the squeeze that followed. Hermione searched Rons face. "Show yourself," she grabbed a fistful of his clothing. "Now!"_

_"Not here," he shushed her. He was too weak, even if he had wanted to. He had to work out a way of getting hold of his wand. And then a way of telling Molly Weasley her son was dead, because he was stupid. After that he could show Hermione himself, with her help. Right now, just holding her close was enough._

"Cedric?" asked Hermione softly and swallowed a teary hiccup

"Not exactly," said Cedric into her hair. He sighed deeply, breathing her in and trying not to think about how cold he felt around the edges not in direct contact with her. With as much stealth as possible, he drew magic from her and cocooned himself inside Rons body. The nausea dissipated somewhat and his vision cleared. He sucked in a huge breath and tried to think about how to tell a body how to run itself since it seemed to be having a spot of bother with keeping its temperature about right.

"Where's Ron?" asked Hermione, turning on his lap and lifting her teary face so that she could see his eyes.

"It's complicated," he hedged, shifting nervously under her. It didn't help that her slight movement was giving his unbody ideas above its station, or the sight of her obvious distress made him want to chase down every tear with his mouth, because it wasn't _his_ mouth. "There was this potion and ah, listen, can we do this later?" He freed himself gently and chafed his arms to try and warm himself, the sensation creeped him out. "We should go and help Harry."

Amos Diggory had fought his way from the stands to the arena and was hunched over the prone body and sightless eyes of his sons corpse. Cedric felt momentary guilt for his old man and shook them off the minute he remembered being groomed for the Ministry, at least this way he was free of that future. The question was, what did this future look like? Harry stood off to one side looking dumbstruck, Hermione took Harrys arm and led him unresisting out of the arena.

"I'll catch up," said Cedric in Rons voice. He stood a few steps from the corpse and tried to look respectful while he searched in vain for his wand, it wasn't in either of his bodys hands, stupid bugger must have dropped it in the graveyard.

"We can arrange for Cedric to lie in the chapel overnight, Amos," Dumbledore assured his old friend. Professors gathered about the pair and the body levitated a short distance into the air. Cedric stepped back out of the way and watched his former body float past him, flanked by sombre faced teachers. Amos wept unashamedly as Dumbledore rested a comforting arm over his quaking shoulders and the pair followed the procession. "Come up to the school and we'll arrange quarters for the night and an owl to your wife." Cedric was shocked to see the same comforting arm slip down his Fathers back and pat his behind.

0.0

Cedric caught up with Harry and Hermione in the hallway outside the common room, the Fat Lady was wailing horribly. Large blubbery tears had driven most of her eye make-up into Halloween-esque trails down her cheeks and she had smooshed her lipstick sideways with her sodden hankie.

"Oh, the pain," she cried dramatically clutching at her ample bosom, "my poor broken heart." Cedric summoned his best sullen Ron and said nastily, "I bet they'll do a portrait or something, of him flying or looking all prefectorial." The Fat Lady's sobbing choked off abruptly.

"Do you think so? He's a little young for me, but still…" The Fat Lady put a hand to her hair and smoothed it down, tripping over to a crumbling garden wall with a mirror inset and twined about with ivy. She peered at her reflection and shrieked when she caught it, "I have to go!" She waved a hand at the edge of her picture frame, "let yourselves in," and with that, disappeared at speed.

Hermione spun around with her mouth open, then looked really confused. Cedric shrugged uneasily, "What? I was only trying to help." Cedric winced, Rons voice was so whiney, no wonder he wound Hermione up.

Hermione looked between Harry and Cedric and gave a tiny nod, Harry didn't appear to be noticing anything amiss. They trooped into the common room, the noise from the other students dropped off and Cedric felt his skin crawl. "Um, I'll take him up?" Cedric offered, looking at Hermione for agreement.

"There will be questions, but we can hold them off for tonight right?" she included the rest of the room in the question and repeated loudly, "RIGHT?" The rooms general murmuring suggested that the rest of Gryffindor was falling into line. Hermione started issuing more detailed instructions, "Neville, you're our early warning system, stay by the door. Luna, yes all right you can stay with him. No, Ginny let him be, he's better with…Ron, the rest of you get in the way of anyone coming through that door looking for Harry."

Cedric left her ordering the others about as he pushed Harry gently ahead of him up the stairs. "C'mon mate, let's get you sorted out." Harry stumbled upstairs, "he's dead, Ron, he's really dead."

"I know mate, believe me, I know." Cedric said mournfully, Ron could definitely do miserable, Cedric thought, he almost wanted to bawl his eyes out himself at his own disconsolate tone.

Harry turned and grabbed him by both shoulders with surprising strength, "you don't, you don't know. You weren't there," he said vehemently.

Cedric grabbed at Harrys shoulders in turn and shook him viciously, "you're alive. That's what matters here. I, on the other hand-," _am very dead _he stopped himself, maybe he could own up later, if there was a later. If there wasn't, Harry was going to lose a best friend as well the rest of the torment he was going through. "I think you might need something from Madame Pomfrey to help you sleep."

"I don't want anything, I just want it to stop," Harry whispered, he let his arms drop, turned and dragged his feet up the remaining steps.

"Nothings going to happen tonight, mate, not with Hermione on the case." Cedric followed close behind, Harry was starting to weave and put out a hand to steady himself on the wall.

Cedric tripped and put out his own hand, Rons co-ordination was piss-poor at the best of times, either his feet were too big for him or…Cedric knocked the toe of his shoe into the riser of the step, he felt the vibrations, but not actually in his toes. His forehead tried to break out in a cold sweat, instead he just felt cold and curled himself smaller on the inside.

Harry gave him a weary smile over his shoulder, "I dunno how she's doing it, Cedric was her mentor."

Cedric gave a non-commital grunt and Harry continued, kicking off his shoes and crawling onto his bed. "He was good for her, pushed her you know? She must be gutted, he was one of the best, even if he did piss her off."

"Doesn't take much to piss her off," Cedric said moodily.

Harry curled into a ball and closed his eyes and shrugged, "they had a ding dong after the second task, anyone would have thought that Hermione was expecting Cedric to rescue her. She said it wasn't that, that Cedric had ticked her off for being tricked by an enchanted parchment, even if it was Dumbledores magic. I never heard her swear before." Harrys voice drifted off, "you should hear her say _fucking._"

Cedrics unbody twitched and made him jump. He waited until he was sure Harry was asleep and dragged the duvet from Rons bed to cover the sleeping boy. He said rather wistfully, "I wish I could help, Harry, I really do."

0.0

Cedric found Hermione dozing on the couch in the common room, she sat up and ran the back of her hand over her bleary eyes.

"Is he asleep?"

Cedric nodded and sat beside her, he offered his hand and she took it without thinking. "Geez, you're cold."

Cedric kept his voice deliberately low, "you do know I'm technically dead?" he said as gently as possible. "And, Ron, he, well, he really is dead."

Hermiones went white, then her face turned mutinous, "it's still you inside though isn't it?"

Cedric sighed and nodded, "the potion was never supposed to last this long though, just a few hours. It doesn't integrate the consciousness with the body, it's more like papier-mache over a balloon – at some point only the shell is going to be left."

Hermione thought frantically, "can you still do magic on your own?"

Cedric shook his head, "haven't tried, it takes too much resource. I don't even dare trying to get back into my own body in case I get stuck inbetween. I might be able to with my own wand-" but Hermione was already shaking her head.

"Unicorn core won't have survived, not completely intact, no way," she said with painful certainty. "How many strands in the core?"

"I don't know…."

"How can you not know?" Hermione turned on him. "It's important," she sounded furious and looked incandescent.

"More than one, less than a hundred," he said in exasperation.

"Fucking hell, Cedric, this is serious. We need to find it."

Cedric flexed his shoulders, it wasn't the sound so much as the sight of her top teeth against her bottom lip on the 'f' sound, and her white teeth on the pink cushion of her lower lip and then helpfully deployed by his brain as a distraction to the crisis, on the deep pink of the head of his tumescent cock. He blew out a breath, shifted in his seat and reminded himself that really, she would be sucking Rons cock from now on if anything like that was going to happen. He threw up a little in his mouth.

"Wait a minute," she said," I can find it. Your wand has a common aura with mine, it should work like a dowsing rod. I have to get to the graveyard."

"You can't go on your own and I can't manage a broomstick," said Cedric immediately, "I don't think I could stay on, I'm just not strong enough." Hermione concentrated on pushing magic through their joined hands, Cedric felt it as a trickle of warmth coating bones he didn't own. He squeezed her hand, "thank you, but it's not enough, you need it to keep yourself safe."

Lunas soft voice piped up, "a thestral could carry you." She rose effortlessly from Nevilles lap, his sleeping form shifted, letting her go and hugging the teddy-bear she conjured to put in her place. "They live in the Forest, I can call them," she said in her curiously earnest, honest way.

Hermione looked in horror at Luna, "did you _know_?" Her mouth flattened as she accused Cedric, "did you tell her and not me?"

"You just called me Cedric, Kit," he rebuked her.

Hermione stuck her face in her hands, "I can't believe this is even happening." She took a deep breath and turned back to Cedric. "I've never seen one, but I know what they are. You could stay on a thestral if I rode behind you. Luna, please, if you would?"

"Of course," Luna said dreamily and moved to stand in front of the pair on the couch, "we need to be outside, here, Hermione, on the count of three," Luna took Hermiones hand.

Cedric opened his mouth to protest.

"Three." Cedric felt his unbody lurch as soon as Luna gripped his hand and in a second he was falling, crashing against the girls joined hands that stopped him from faceplanting in the grass outside the castle walls. They pushed him upright and Luna turned her back to them. She ran a hand over her wand and said, "_tibia morta._" Holes appeared evenly spaced down her wand and a bulbous mouthpiece appeared near one end that she raised to her lips.

Hermione watched Lunas shoulders rise and fall with her breaths, but heard nothing, Cedric on the other hand heard music to make a soul dance. He wasn't sure how long it lasted, only that it made him feel more alive than he had since he had seen his own dead body in front of him. The wind whipped, circling around them and tightening on Luna, hoofbeats drummed the ground, softly though, as if a great distance was between them and whatever was coming. Overhead a downdraught signalled the arrival of a great winged horse, landing with pinpoint accuracy in front of the threesome and Luna played on.

The beast was black with luminous white eyes, to Cedric it looked inside out since what flesh there was, was behind the pale grey bones of its skeleton instead of covering them. It lowered its head and set forward one foreleg in an ungainly bow. Luna played on and the beast furled its wings and settled itself close to the grass, curling its great neck around so that its muzzle almost touched its hindquarters, fangs showed, curving down from its top lip, over the sides of the bottom. Lunas music drifted to a close.

"Here," Luna said in her sing-song voice to the two behind her, "it's quite safe." She walked forward and lay a hand on the thestrals scaly muzzle, stroking gently.

"I can't see anything," Hermione hissed.

"I can," replied Cedric grimly and led her forward, he lifted her and settled her on the animals great wide back, wrinkling his nose against the stink of rotting meat.

"They eat carrion," Hermione said conversationally although her voice wavered a bit while she tried to get used to the idea of sitting a metre or more high in the air with apparently nothing holding her up. Cedric scrambled up in front of her, the thestrals back felt as wide as a table. He didn't think the smell was from a recent snack, rather from the beast itself since the flesh behind the bones was, on closer inspection, well on its way to being compost. Hermione shifted forwards, pressing up against his back and reaching around him.

"Does it know where to go?" Cedric asked gingerly.

"It knows the field of bodies," Luna said darkly, "she will wait for you and bring you back." Luna stared at Cedric, "don't belong. Don't be long," she repeated cryptically, it didn't really sound like a correction, and with that she clicked her tongue and the thestral lumbered to its full height. To Hermione she said simply, "hold on," and turned away. The threstral bunched its muscles, took threes strides, stretched out neck and wings and launched into the air.

Luna stared the way of the Forest, the drumming of hoofprints was easy to pick out now, telling her that despite the intensity of the vibrations, it came from an individual and not a herd. She smiled softly to herself, he would be angry for her using the spirit pipe and instruct her to be more careful in his own particular way. She shivered in anticipation, sitting in company might be difficult tomorrow if he was really cross.

0.0

Kazym trotted up to her, he carried a long black stave in one hand and a recurved bow in the other. He brushed past her rudely and rounded on her.

"Do you have any idea who can hear you when the music calls?" He circled her and she turned with him to keep him in front of her and studied the stave.

Lunas eyes lit with excitement. "Where did you find it?"

The centaur clopped to a halt and grudgingly handed her the staff. His face still showed his displeasure with her actions, but was lifted by her reaction to his gift. "In the waters under the ring of trees," he replied.

"The dew pond in the clearing?"

"The same."

Luna took the dark wood stave from Kazyms outstretched hand and ran her hands along the length of the Alder. The last of the dew ponds water steamed off and the wood creaked as the excess moisture departed.

"Alder transcends the natural barriers of the elements, serving all four, air, earth, fire and water," Luna repeated like a catechism, "it's perfect. Stronger in death than in life."

Kazym pulled a small pot of paste from small leather bag dangling from a thong at his shoulder. The base of the pot was bulbous and the lid domed and oversized so that the whole thing together looked like a mushroom.

She twisted a tool into the shaft an inch from the top and withdrew a small plug of timber, inoculated the void with a wad of pale green paste from the jar, using a spatula stuck out from the underside of the lid and replaced the plug. She held her hand hovering over the odd repair and the plug seated itself more snugly, turning a half turn clockwise to re-align the grain.

"Is it working?" Kazym didn't bother to mask his impatience.

"Too soon to tell," Luna didn't take her eyes off the timber.

"Death is an impatient partner. It is written, he will make me immortal before….but he doesn't have much time. She is strong, if it happened later maybe she would manage, but it's too early in her years."

"Hermione…?"

"Is all that is keeping him here"

"We need more time," Luna sighed.

Kazym turned his dark eyes to the heavens. "There is none to be had, but perhaps I can hurry this a little." He took the stave from Lunas hand and folded his horny palm over the plug and closed his eyes. His brow furrowed in concentration. The paste squeezed out from the joint coated his hand and made it itch furiously. He knew the fungal spores would pass through the barrier of his skin, knew too that this was both end and beginning and he deliberately kept that she was the start of his death from her, because he loved her. Magic spiralled along the fungal growth, up his arm as far as his elbow and then down, inching back into the rod.

Luna set her palm against his chest and whispered, "I miss you." Kazym didn't open his eyes, but smiled as if presented with an obvious untruth.

"You have the sleepers gift of walking and a witches eye, we could hunt together in the dreamers fields if you wanted."

Luna smiled at the thought.

"You will have to teach me to shoot the bow."

Kazym smiled wolfishly, "you will have to earn it." The stave hummed and groaned, a sliver of bark a fingerswidth wide peeled off to show the mottled wood beneath.

"The fungus has taken, the alder is spalting, the staff is alive and dead. It's working. He stared at the twinkling starlight. "Death is no longer our enemy, it is time." He turned to her with urgency in his voice, "find the core."

"What is it?" Luna asked, "what does it look like?"

"My herd brothers tail."

0.0

Hermione clutched at Cedric and tried not to look down, he felt so cold it was like hugging a human popsicle. Up her sleeve, her wand stirred restlessly, below her the schools lights disappeared and darkness took hold. Without any landmarks it was impossible to tell where they were until her ears popped seconds before the thestrals hooves connected with the ground with a jolt.

Hermione pulled her wand immediately, "_lumos."_ Her wand dragged her arm right away from her body and down towards the ground, the vine extended itself to its full length, obviously pointing.

The thestral nosed the earth near a gravestone and Hermiones lit wand outlined the daunting shape of a stone grim reaper, complete with skull for a face and a wicked looking scythe. She bit back a cry of surprise. Hermione reached forward, looking her Cedrics hand with her own and grabbing at him tightly when she found it.

"Call your wand," she said sharply, shifting away from him so that he couldn't feel her shaking. "I want to get out of here, now!"

"_Accio wand,_" said Cedric, holding out his other hand. Hermione felt the slight tug of magic, but nothing happened. "It's like it doesn't know it's me," Cedric worry bleeding into Rons voice, he shook his head.

"Stay here," Hermione demanded and slipped off the thestrals back. It was further to the ground than she thought and she landed awkwardly, tripping backwards and landing hard on her arse. She kept a death grip on her wand, but put the other out to save herself and refused to think about what she might have put her hand in that was cold, squishy and damp. Moss, she told herself, it's only moss and refused to light the area in case it was flat toad or irreparably damaged slug instead. She shuddered and concentrated on her wand.

"Where is it?" she hissed at the vine. The wand tugged at her hand and she stumbled across the uneven ground, barking her shins on grave corners and tripping over half buried stones. A little way away from where they had landed, the vine tugged her arm down so hard she almost fell forwards. Crouching, she scrabbled about in the damp tufts of grass and whatever else, muttering to herself about boys losing things and what the equivalent of idiot-mittens for a wand might be. Once a spider skipped over the back of her hand and she shook it like a lunatic to dislodge it before it made a break for her sleeve.

"Hate you, hate you, hate you," she chanted and made a noise like, "bwaaaahhhh nggghh," which seemed to help. Her questing fingers found the ridge of a twig, too smooth and too warm to be here. "You better be worth it," she threatened the inanimate object and bundled the two wands together in one hand so that she had one free in case she tripped on the way back.

She turned around, then around again when she couldn't quite get her bearings in the dark. Something like fear was trying to squeeze her stomach into a small ball and encourage her to curl up and hide, she quashed it firmly. "Fuck it, _lumos maxima,"_

Light arced from her wand, gravestones and statues threw disturbing shadows, one shaped like a horse with wings and a man on top moved towards her, when it came into the light it looked like Cedric was floating. If she had looked carefully, she would have seen the tip of Cedrics wand glow faintly orange, as it was, she was trying not to dwell on all the muggle horror films that she had accidently seen, since her dad was a zombie fan, that featured scenes with a graveyard backdrop – there were quite a lot, all competing in glorious horrific Technicolor detail for her attention. Out the corner of her eye, something definitely moved.

"Here," Cedric called softly, "we're over here."

Hermione hurried towards him and he reached down a hand to pull her up. If it was possible, he was colder than before, Rons chubby features had taken on a craggy, hollow look about them. She dragged herself up behind Cedric, "bloody hell, you're freezing." The thestral pawed at the ground as Hermione passed Cedric his wand, "here, your wand feels warm to me. If you drop it again, I'll kill you." She rearranged his clothing rather than dwell on the foot-in-mouth syndrome she had acquired.

Cedric clicked his tongue and the thestral turned daintily, looking for a clear runway. Hermione looked over her shoulder to where she thought she saw movement. "Go, go!" she urged kicking the beast on, it grunted and Cedric tipped back as its neck shot up and the fanged muzzle snapped at his legs.

"Shit, Hermione, whatever you just did, don't bloody do it again, it's trying to eat me."

"Don't be stupid," she said tersely. "It only eats dead things…" she held him tighter. "Oh, sorry." She reached behind her to tentatively pat the beasts hindquarters, "err, sorry?"

The thestral lurched forward, collected itself and burst skywards. On the ground a small tabby cat wound itself around the legs of the figure of the grim reaper and purred. It sounded a lot like ner-ne-ner-ne-ner-ner.

A/N The tune I was thinking Luna was playing was "Toss the Feathers by The Corrs, it's a proper foot tapper. Early flutes were made from the shin bone, which is of course the tibia.

Spalting is real and is where fungal or viral growths in wood (alive or dead) causes the timber to become patterned by different colours. Spalted wood is very sought after by carvers and furniture makers. Alder is truely hardened by soaking in water, where other timber would rot.

Idiot mittens are mittens or gloves secured to a coat by elastic that runs down the inside of each sleeve, usually for small children. Pinging said mitten by pulling away from the coat and letting go often with the child in the coat was what we used to do for fun before telly lol.

Thank you PG616 for giving me the gentlest of nudges.x Sherbs.


	19. Chapter 19

A/N These characters aren't mine, if they were, Snape would have worn alot more leather. Black, obs.

_The pictures on the page __had stopped swapping places at least. __Hermiones plain frame was in the centre, with the other girls images_  
><em>primping prettily in a circle around her. <em>_In the rectangle of Hermiones picture, a dark archway was now __steady. What the archway led to was __obscured by a continuous fall of snowflakes. _

"It's the perfect time," Minerva urged her colleagues. "No-one will be looking for us after what has been going on and all the students are shut away in their rooms for their own safety so if something goes wrong." She stopped herself, "not that anything is going to go wrong, we are simply helping Helen on her way."

Trelawney looked at Pomfrey through her bottle-bottom glasses, "I haven't had an untroubled vision since she started manifesting, it feels like she is everywhere, looking for something. I think it's kinder to, you know, put her out of her misery." She hoped she had appealed to the side of the matron that dealt with the terminally ill, not that it happened much at the school, but there had been moments when a patient had taken an unexpected turn while matron had been on the wards at St Mungos. Nothing was ever said of course, families had often been extraordinarily generous to those caring for their relatives in their final days.

Pomfrey folded her heavy arms across her body. "I say there has been enough killing for one day," she said dubiously.

"It's more of a banishment," Trelawney wheedled on McGonagalls behalf, "and we only need three, to be absolutely certain it will stick."

"Tried already have you?" Pomfrey asked humourlessly. "Never mind, I'll come." There might be unknown medicinal properties in the Whomping Willow, she allowed – not that she had been able to get so much as a sliver of the bark with whatever possessed it keeping guard. Today might just be her lucky day.

To be fair, it was already her lucky day. Amos and Albus had only just left with the news that Cedric, bless his cotton underpants, had left instructions that his body be donated to magical science. Albus had been all set to put the body into a sort of stasis, but hadn't because Cedric must have arranged for his corpse to look after itself on the breathing front despite the fact that there was definitely 'no-one home.'

Pomfrey had agreed that the corpse, if that was the correct term, be left in the chapel overnight so that the student body could pay its last respects in the morning when everyone had had time to digest their champions passing. After that, she would arrange for it to be transferred to the lab attached to the sanatorium wing and no-one would be the wiser.

She rolled up her sleeves, "lets get to it then," she announced and surreptitiously patted her robes for an empty vial.

0.0

Luna was seated cross legged on the grass when the Thestral thundered back to earth. A black staff with mottling covering the top third of its length lay across her bent legs and she held her hands above it as if exhorting it to rise. It didn't.

Hermione slid cautiously from her mounts back and managed to make a better landing than she had in the graveyard. She waited to help Cedric to slide down after her, carefully keeping herself between Cedric and where she thought the bitey end of the animal was. Lune raised her head at their approach, and directing her words to the beast, she said simply, "you may go." It shook its great head and set the flesh on its neck to trembling, but bent to crop idly at the wispy grass, pulling fronds through its teeth as if to clean them rather than actually eating. Its luminous eyes followed Cedrics shape with an intense dedication that Cedric ignored with an equally intense dedication.

"Show me your wand," Hermione demanded to Cedric. He handed it over without a word. She knew that it had more than a single hair, she remembered him rubbing his thumb across the bristled hairs at the tip in the library when he had teased her into kissing him, definitely more than one. Every one increased his chances of the wand still working.

"There has to be one left," Hermione said to herself, angling the tip of the rod towards her and lighting her own so that she could see better into the core. "Be one, be one," she repeated to herself, as if somehow she could make one lone bristle have survived. She ran her thumb over the tip of the wand and rubbed her thumb and forefinger together to dispel the ashy remnants that clung there. In the midst of a speckling of grey and black wasted hairs was more grey and black. She tipped her head back and made a show of inspecting the sky to keep the tears in, her throat closed roughly over a soundless sob.

She told herself it was only what she had expected – that whatever protection having her Vine ring offered would never have been enough to make the dream of Cedric actually surviving a killing curse true. She wondered what kind of sick joke Ron was playing. He must have overhead her and Cedric together at some point to get the 'Kit' reference. No wonder he couldn't call his wand – it wasn't his wand to call. Her stomach turned at the thought of him going so far as to try and transfer into Cedrics body, it was pretty low – all he needed was the bottle to ask her out in the first place. There was only one thing to do – let it play out and rip the shit out of him when they got to the chapel – she could at least give him that privacy rather than the dressing down he deserved with Luna as witness. Cedric was dead she told herself, long live Cedric. At least now he could be buried with his wand.

Cedric squinted into the harsh light that Hermiones wand produced, fascinated by how quickly her manner had become so impersonal and business-like so suddenly. She would survive this, even if he didn't, he was sure of it, he wished he felt more sure about himself. Nervously his feet moved themselves closer to her.

"See anything?"

"Oh yes," she replied firmly. "You have no idea," wishing she could take him apart with her hands like she would be able to with words. She had verbally spit roasted Ron so often it had become a sport, it might also, she reasoned, explain why he was so damn moody around her.

"That's good right?" he asked hesitantly.

"Good," she confirmed over heartily, "great!" She was all right working herself up into the indignation that a proper keel hauling would require, almost made it too, until he put his hand over hers. Rons that is and caught her chin so that he could see her expression properly.

"I mean if there's nothing, you can just tell me," he said softly. It was the honesty in the statement that made her doubt herself, because what if it was true. No unicorn hair, she told herself, no bullshit, he couldn't be alive, it was just Ron. Miserable and moody and cruel now with it. She wondered when they had spoken to the Fat Lady, he had sounded so much like Ron should, that bit underwhelmed by the whole experience, not to mention bitter about how everyone got to play a part except for him. He must have taken something to keep his skin temperature close to freezing, but that suggested an element of pre-planning that she had never associated with Ron before. He was kin to the Twins though and she wouldn't put anything past them.

"It's badly damaged," she said factually, jerking her chin out of his grip, "as you would expect with a killing curse." She emphasised the 'killing' with a little acid in her tone. She told herself to see Ron and only Ron in his dispirited face. "I'd have to open it to be sure, because whatever bristle there was is completely burnt off." She offered her ash coloured fingertips for inspection. "And there's really no point is there?" _Ron_ she finished in her mind, pithy with irritation. Why couldn't he just come clean and save them all the bother. What a time to start something like this, a dead body was hardly likely to get her in the mood for, well, whatever. Perhaps he thought that she would turn to him as her rock in her hour of need.

He took the wand back from her, balanced it on his fingertip close to the Vine ring and watched the ends tip up and down while he thought about Hermiones tone. It didn't sound resigned, it sounded angry. He tried to think about what she might be thinking about and came up blank for once. "I need to try and get back into my body," he said finally.

"Of course you do," Hermione replied crisply. She wasn't sure what would happen if Ron tried this, there were rules about dead things. Unbreakable rules. She had a sudden yearning for Professor Snapes bored tone and brutal honesty, necromancy wasn't anywhere in her chosen subjects, even in the advanced classes. Zombie movies had had a hand in that too, opening the deceased wands was as close as she was ever going to let herself get to it. Even that creeped her out, she thought of Snape entirely focused on the tiny cube on his desk, as if it was suddenly his entire world, but the thing was, it was _past_.

Luna eyed Hermione warily, then pursed her lips and spoke her mind to Cedric. "Do you want to stay?" It hadn't escaped her notice that despite the obvious success of the search, Cedrics shoulders were bowed and his feet shuffled against the ground as if he didn't have quite the strength to lift them. Nor did it escape her that Hermione immediately grasped Cedrics hand and he didn't quite silence a pained groan when she did so.

"Not so much," he muttered unsteadily to Hermione, "you'll hurt yourself," but he stood taller and braced himself more squarely.

"Of course he wants to stay," said Hermione with determination and a certain amount of malicious intent.

"If I can't get back into my own body, Kit, I don't know…" Cedric sounded weary and most of all, uncertain.

Hermione glared at him, he should sound uncertain, it wasn't as if it was ever going to happen. She played her part anyway, "but you said…" She let grief crumple her features as her eyes sketched Rons honest face. She took a huge breath, "you said if you had your wand back, you could try." She should get an Oscar she told herself, he looked truly forlorn.

Cedric tried to prepare her for the worst, for the possibility of failure. "I could get lost, inbetween. It might have been too long already, I….if I don't have anything here…I don't know."

"You're just not trying," retorted Hermione angrily, thinking bitterly how much his reasoning would make sense if only Cedric was indeed trapped in Rons body. She felt herself crumbling inside because he thought he didn't have anything to stay for and refusing to articulate the hope that he might want to stay, for her, because what if he didn't? And then felt supremely selfish, it wasn't her in someone elses body after all. It was simply Ron, being vicious, there would be a joke in it somewhere, some punchline where he would have himself in stitches. She let go of his hand and let her own drop to her side. The wand spun restlessly under her sleeve. It didn't feel right, a small voice said, it felt like giving up, because what if it _was_ him.

He looked over in surprise. "Hermione?"

She wanted to tell him the game was up, but the moonlit shadow of the Thestral was sidling closer. She waited until the great head had snaked out on its long neck, perilously close to Rons ankle. Thestrals only eat carrion, she could hear herself say it conversationally before they had set off on the little jaunt to the graveyard. Dead things. That meant that Rons body was dead. She studied his chest, the slight rise of a breath was getting shallower again, it always picked up after she had powered him up. Hermione rocked on her heels.

"You're dead!" Hermione accused. If Ron was dead and Rons body was technically dead, then maybe, just maybe since Cedric was 'alive,' maybe by extension his body was too.

"Err?" said Cedric.

"You miserable bastard, you're actually dead." Hermione howled half with hiccupping tears and half angry laughter, she collected herself and said white faced in a disbelieving tone, "Molly's going to kill me," and dragged him a little further away from the next nonchalant swipe of the shadowy outline of fanged jaws. The Thestral continued on, as if it had no mind to do any such thing as eat a recent rider, but the luminous eyes had a baleful cast and a certain amount of disappointment about the horned brow.

Prickles at the corners of Hermiones eyes made her eyelids flutter and close, angrily she swiped the cuff of her sweater under them and tried not to sniff. Tears didn't actually help any, they just made her face blotchy and her nose run, none of which was going to help Ron in his deceased state or Cedric in his, whatever state it was. Noisily she cleared her throat. Frantically her mind scrambled through how Cedric could still be alive if his wand was dead, there had to be one lone Unicorn hair buried in the wand that had survived – just not all of it, then she realised he was trying to telling to tell her that he might not make it anyway.

"It's fine," she said, raising her chin and looking away. It would be easier if Cedric was going to 'go' of his own volition, if he did it while she wasn't looking. She crossed her arms and said in her firmest voice, "do what you like, whatever is best for you. I'll go and watch over Harry. He needs me," she said heavily. She turned her body away from Cedric and made to stride past Lunas seated form. She managed three steps before Cedrics expletive caught up with her and a hard hand clamped at her shoulder.

"Sodding hell, Kit. I can't do it without you, it's just, you might be there," Cedric tried to explain. "When I actually….you know." Cedric left the sentence unfinished because Hermione turned in, towards his body and hugged him fiercely.

"Not today, no more dying today," whispered Hermione, the air shimmered around the pair of them as if she was casting a spell. She held her breath while she forced as much magic as possible into his body, until he trembled and she reeled dizzily.

"Good, that's settled then," Lunas voice rose beside them. "I have something for you, it will help since your wand is so damaged, it needs a bit of work, but you already have the core," she said. "Does anyone know how to get hold of an orb?"

Hermione took the stave, holding it gingerly in the middle as she realised that the mottling was actually making slow progress, creeping infinitesimally closer to her hand, "what core? What happened to this? I've never seen this before."

"That's because you are different sort of Witch," replied Luna pragmatically and Hermione was reminded of the episode at the edge of the Forest where Luna had appeared with her hands covered in blood. There had been a birth, but also apparently a death and the practical part of Hermione buckled down to accept that her odd friend had, on the balance of probabilities, had a hand in both.

Luna continued, "the centaur tail will be the core, it's a bridge of sorts," and then said enigmatically, "between."

"Between?" asked Cedric curiously.

"Between what you are and what you want," answered Luna enigmatically.

Cedric thought carefully before he answered her back, mostly about Hermione and how desperately she was trying to keep him alive. He didn't know how far she would go and had no idea if the cost was too great, if she would know to stop, to save herself. The thing that bothered him most was that Luna hadn't talked about price, or what it might cost to cross the 'bridge'. A niggling notion in the back of his mind was suggesting that it might not be him footing the bill. If it was high enough, the magic could get burnt right out of someone he cared a great deal about. He made a promise to himself, to make Hermione let go if it was too much, if it was the last thing he ever did, even if she didn't want him to. He would always be the boy who died in the Tournament, there was his 'eternal glory.' "There's an orb up by the Whomping Willow."

"I've never actually made a wand before," said Hermione, "let alone a staff. I don't think Olivander is still here." _Or would actually help,_ said a small voice inside her. "I've seen it done," she reasoned out loud with herself. She had watched avidly at Olivanders elbow over the summer as the old Wandmaker had split the rods with a sickle shaped razor that somehow carved a channel either side at the same time, she had a small notched blade like it in her set of tools. He had pasted a sickly smelling, sticky resin into the channel with the chosen core and sealed the rod again with a spell before moving on to the next. The core enhanced rods were piled for shaping and polishing, then tested for potency in a special range set up with distance markers and some tailors dummies, lightly seared at the edges.

The trouble was the time it took. It was taking more energy to reinvigorate the body that Cedric was in each time, he simply had to get back to him own. She tried very hard not to picture the pale corpse, eyes blankly open which reappeared in the Tournament circle at the mouth of the Maze.

A sliver of bark flaked off the stave, close to her hand, then a whole strip the other side of her hand, all the way to the end, leaving a handswidth ring of bark where she held it.

"Is it supposed to be doing this?" Hermione asked Luna.

Luna frowned, puzzled, it was as if Hermione was actively disrupting the spalting where she was in contact with the wood. Luna edged a fingernail into the bark band, the wood underneath the bark was pale green, resurrected and alive in the face of all odds. "It's fine," she confirmed, checking that the mottling went all the way to the other end – it had simply bypassed where Hermione was.

Hermione fished in her pocket, feeling for the coil of centaur hair, she drew it out and flicked it so that it unrolled. The strands sparkled silver, dark and gold, weaving in amongst themselves into a spiral plait. "Luna, I need you to hold this I have an idea. Hold it here," she passed one end of the tail hairs to Luna and made her hold them to one end of the stave, while she placed the tip of her wand at the other end and thought about how much she wanted the hairs to draw themselves through the stave. There wasn't a spell, no set of words that she could think of that verbalised what she wanted, just that she wanted it to happen so very much. Luna rolled the hairs between her fingers and thumb and let go. The hairs continued to twist, easing into the stave like the diamond point of the quietest drill. A steady rain of powdered wood streamed from where the tail hairs turned around themselves and tighter, edging into the stave.

Cedric watched in amazement as the pool of tail hairs grew smaller and smaller, more and more of it disappeared into the wood. A single curling strand of black hair appeared under the mottling in the wood, circling around and up, under the bark handpiece and appearing again the other side, spiralling lazily. When it reached the top, the hairs that had passed dead centre all the way up broke through the tip in a shower of sawdust and ceased spinning, splaying away from one another like a miniature fountain.

Hermione took a shaky breath and blinked away the black spots behind her eyelids. Lunas lips curved into a small smile, recognising that pivotal moment where a Witch gives more than she should to get more than should be possible. It was dangerous territory though and Luna eyed Cedric curiously wondering exactly what was so special about him that Hermione would risk everything, because that was exactly what she was doing.

Hermione took Cedrics wand again and shook her own out of her sleeve.

"_Alohomora,_" Hermione whispered. The Vine twined around the damaged wand, running its leaves over it like loving fingers. The leaves found the join on the ring and turned themselves edge on, there was a faint click, like the turning of a rubiks cube and a fissure opened along one side of the wand and it opened smoothly as if hinged on the other side. Hermione huffed gently at the speckled grey fragments, nothing, nothing, then something, a flash of a silver white hair, two thirds the length it should be.

She picked at the hair, getting it under her fingernail and edging it out of the groove and into the palm of her hand. Luna laid the living handpiece of the staff over the top of the single strand on Hermiones open palm and closed her own hand around it so that their fingers interweaved. Luna held her other hand up and the thestral nosed into it.

"Ready?" Luna whispered. Hermione nodded, not really sure how what needed to happen was going to come to pass, she felt exhausted just getting the core to drill itself into the staff, let alone making the single bristle part of the staff as well. "Through me," Luna whispered to Hermione, "reach through me."

"Wait," rasped Cedric, suddenly understanding that Luna was asking Hermione to walk the thin line between light and dark, but it was too late, Hermione had already closed her eyes to concentrate. Hermione heard him shout like it came from the end of a really long tunnel and Cedric sounded more like himself than he had a right to from inside someone elses body. He also sounded as if he was really, really pissed with her.

"No!"

0.0

Hermiones mind went into freefall, whispers caressed her from all sides, _'reach through, through the darkness, feel the power there.' _Somewhere further away a chiding voice implored,_'don't lose yourself…it'_ the end of the sentence was scratchy like someone had ripped the needle off an old vinyl disc. _'Make the staff as it should be, build the bridge light to dark, death to life, close the space between.' _Hermione felt like she was walking and at the same time stood solidly grasping Lunas hand. The Unicorn hair sank under the surface of the staff and Hermione followed it in her mind, plunging thorough the dense living fibres and into the dead heartwood. Her mind tripped and stumbled, like unknowing feet in the forbidden forest, there were paths for the knowing and other things for the unwary. The ground thrummed as if alive, for all she knew it was.

Blackness tugged at her and she touched it fleetingly, loathing the chill, sucking sensation, but suddenly exhilarated by the rush of magic it granted her. She rode the crest and gasping, sagged when she let it go, seeing just ahead the silver twisting river of the core and intent on winding the single white bristle into its heart. Darkness plucked at her, enticing her to take it up again. The power it offered was almost irresistible. _'Leave it, leave it,'_ someone urged.

In her minds eye she reached forwards and threaded the Unicorn hair into the staffs core, light streamed along the length of the staff, end to end, blinding her, forcing her to recoil back into herself. The staff hummed in her hand and over her head, the Vine reached out in a perfect arch, lengthening both ends to complete a perfect arch. Luna let go, stumbling backwards awkwardly and the thestral spooked, spreading its huge leathery wings and managing an almost vertical takeoff.

Hermione opened her eyes, behind her a chill wind blew snow between her legs.

"Bravo darlings," crowed a cultured feminine voice behind her. "My aren't you something," it purred with a tone approaching envy. Hermione tried to turn, she needn't have bothered, a figure stepped impossibly _through_ her and she felt the touch of an amused mind. She looked like a younger McGonagall, her body was willowy and covered in a long tawny dress that dragged the floor, above her bare shoulders, her hair twisted about her with a mind of its own, outlandishly tinted in browns and greens. "I am unhomed," she chuckled, "they think they got rid of me at last."

"Helen?" Hermione gasped.

"The same," it replied approvingly. "I'd like your wand," she said, the tone was in no way a request. Hermione tightened her grip and the figure tutted. The air grew colder behind her, snow flurried in front and behind. "I have not come so far," Helen said reprovingly, stopping when a scarecrow figure apparated with a loud snap.

"I banish you by thought," Snapes tone was foul with contempt, not that his lover had returned, but that she chose to pit herself against a student. A second figure separated from him, quivering with fury, McGonagall, thwarted in her second attempt by her sister hiding in the orb. Only when Trelawney had tried to contact Helen and failed had McGonagall known she had been played for a fool and selected reinforcements with a darker knowledge.

"I banish you by deed," McGonagalls voice was a deadly hiss. She held the orb in one hand and struck it with her wand, sparks flew off and with an almighty crack the orb split into two halves. Helen shrieked and lunged at Hermione.

With gritted teeth, Hermione held fast with both hands as something tried to force itself into her body. She pushed back with all her might, filling herself up with only herself so that there was no space left for anything or anyone else. She whispered harshly, "I banish you by will," and with a final shriek the presence was gone.

Snapes cruel fingers prised her hand from the staff and her knees went the instant she was forced to let go. He caught her awkwardly with his arm behind her back, staggering and bent forward over her. He could have set her down, but didn't. Instead their eyes locked, Snapes showing more emotion than Hermione had ever seen, a mixture of loss and relief.

"I'll take her, Sir?"

"Ah, Weasley," Snape sneered, silencing himself suddenly and looking closer at the face purporting to be Ron, taking in the shadows around the eyes and dry, cracking lips. The Professor passed an unresisting Hermione into Cedrics care. Snape said carefully, to no-one in particular and nonchalantly handed the staff to him, "you have about 10 minutes before Mrs Norris checks on the body again."

"I could use your help," Cedric murmured.

Snapes lips twisted into an almost smile, before he gripped Cedrics robes and Hermiones sleeve and apparated directly to the chapel.

0.0

Guttering candles had been placed around the body in repose. Snape swept a hand and all but two flickered out, smoke rising lazily from the heated wicks. "Get on with it," Snape growled.

"I'm not sure how this is going to work, exactly," admitted Cedric.

Professor Snape dragged at his hook nose and breathed heavily. "Hold the staff, touch the body, I'll do the rest, now move yourself," he snarled. Cedric flicked his eyes over Hermiones face, she looked stricken. There was so much he wanted to say and none of it was goodbye and now there was no time.

Snape snapped waspishly, "I don't have all night."

"What do I do?" Hermione whispered.

"You've done enough," sneered Snape nastily. Having her so close was giving him a nervous tic and he still hadn't quite managed to make himself let go of her sleeve.

Cedric circled the body, coming to rest opposite the Professor and Hermione. Tentatively he gripped the wrist, feeling warmth flood up his arm. He jerked his gaze to Snape, soundlessly the Professors lips moved and Hermione swayed, eyes glassy, her wand rising and pointing at him.

Cedric opened his mouth to speak, to shout '_why?'_ when they had come this far. The warmth had spread to his shoulder now, across to his throat and burned, hot as pitch, scorching his voice hoarse and silent. Fire streamed from Hermiones wand tip, arcing against the staff like a lightning rod and the heat spread, his consciousness running before it hopelessly before he was engulfed in flames.

0.0

The first thing he noticed was the quiet. The second was that a smaller, softer body was cuddled into his side. Through the gloom, he could make out the distinctive newel posts of his own bed and Tomas sitting cross legged at the end, picking at his own fingernails.

Tomas stirred as Cedric tilted his head up to see better.

"_Delicia?_" Tomas nodded towards Hermiones unconscious form.

"Indeed," Cedric sighed. It looked real, felt real from inside his battered body and he winced from the scorched flesh on his chest. He glanced at the time turner on his wrist, the dome was smashed in and the hands swung lazily in opposite directions. He stared beadily at Hermiones necklace, her time turner was different, more resembling an old fashioned hour glass, only now the sand drained unceasingly from top to bottom with neither showing increase or decrease. He hugged her tighter and she moaned his name in her sleep. He didn't know what it meant, but he'd take it.

Tomas grinned and slipped off the bed, he pointed at a grey mottled staff leaning idly in the corner near the pillow, beside it lay Hermiones wand, the leaves settled and unsettled as Hermione rolled and stretched. "Yours?"

"Replacement," confirmed Cedric.

Tomas nodded in approval. "It will be an interesting story I think…like the chalk centaur on the hill."

Cedric frowned, "I don't know anything about that." There were flashes he thought he remembered, of hoofbeats and a startled cry when Helen was being banished, of running headlong before fire. He shut it out, that must have been Snapes doing, nothing to do with Hermione, she was simply his pawn.

"Then we will trade, no?" said Tomas, smiling widely

Hermiones arm crept across Cedrics torso and Tomas backed out of the closed curtains.

When Hermione and Cedric eventually emerged, the staff was augmented by not one, but two Vine rings, bracketing the handpiece top and bottom.

The End.

0.0

A/N: There were things that didn't get woven into the story in the end, because the story changed (thanks SHR lol!). If there is anything seriously narking you, I probably have an outtake for it you can have that no longer fits the final story line (!)


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